


The Seraph

by Hywar



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Dean, Creature Fic, Dominant Castiel, Dubious Consent, Kidnapping, M/M, Minor Character Death, Octopus Castiel, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Castiel, Slow Burn, Tentacle Sex, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-01
Updated: 2014-05-19
Packaged: 2018-01-21 11:28:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 135,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1548941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hywar/pseuds/Hywar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ever since the seraph were discovered, there's been one rule society has had to adapt to: stay out of open water. Powerful, determined and aggressive, the octopus-human creatures are in a league of their own and have no qualms with taking what they want and attacking what they don't. Now, children learn to swim in man-made lakes and beaches are deserted save for researches and the fool-hearted.</p><p>    Dean Winchester is neither of those things. But a hunt has brought him and Sam, his brother, to one of the many abandoned beaches, where Dean is left with no choice but to take refuge in the water. He should be safe, he thinks, he doesn't go too deep - just deep enough to hide himself and to deter his pursuer.</p><p>    He forgot just how fast the damn things could be, and how determined they were once they had their eyes on something.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be my NaNoWriMo project last November. As you can see, it got a little out of hand, and I only just finished writing and editing it now.  
> But, hey, the world can always use some more Octo!Cas, right?  
> It's gonna be split into sections, but considering it's all written already it shouldn't take that long to post the rest of it. I just need to find enough time to sit down and make sure the formatting is readable. I'm thinking it'll be separated into five chapters, but we'll see how that goes.

Castiel sighed, blowing into the water and watching as tiny bubbles made their way to the surface. He stretched his limbs out, letting his tentacles stretch until they were nearly breaking the surface of the water, dragging them along and smiling at the rippling effect they had. He was bored. It wasn’t uncommon, really, there was so little to do anymore, boredom was becoming more and more common as time passed on. It hadn’t been so bad, back when he’d first left his home. Back then he still had so many preparations to make – he had a nest to build, things to make and create and perfect. He had to find the perfect place to set up his own home, far enough away where, once he found his mate, nothing would be able to bother them. And then he’d had to go about actually building the nest, trying his best to make it homey and comfortable, but in the end he still wasn’t happy with it.

It wasn’t that it was a bad nest. He didn’t think that, no. It’s just….well, it was his nest. There was no proof of other life in it, no mate waiting for him, no body for him to curl up into at night and keep warm and safe. A nest was supposed to be a family thing, and Castiel didn’t have a family, not yet, so no matter how hard he tried he just couldn’t get it perfect. Once he had a mate, everything else would hopefully fall into place.

He didn’t understand what was taking them so long. He’d always considered himself to be patient, but even he had his limits, and he was starting to think maybe his brothers were right when they went out searching for their mates. But, they were supposed to have nests ready and waiting, and Castiel just didn’t understand how they could have their nests build if they’d gone out looking for mates so soon. If they left the nests, how did they know something wouldn’t happen to them while they were gone? It was such a crucial thing, it could ruin a courtship! He tried to remind himself that, really, he didn’t know if his brothers had been any more successful than he had. For all he knew they were still out looking, too, or maybe they’d found their mate and brought them back but lost them because their nest wasn’t good enough.

It was possible. And it was all the more reason for Castiel to diligently wait. He would find his mate, he knew, and in the meantime he would make sure that their nest was ready and waiting.

* * *

 

Dean hated hunts that took them down south. The climate was hot and the layers he wore to make his FBI disguise actually plausible were clingy and heavy and left him sweating the second he stepped out of the relatively cool Impala. By the time he actually got around to questioning witnesses he knew that they were all either uncomfortable or dubious; he’d be covered in sweat and wiping at his brow as often as he could, and his white button-up shirt would be filthy and damp. Sam always bitched at him whenever he complained, but Dean had noticed that they very rarely took cases that lead them to the southern states, so he had the feeling his little brother agreed with him more than he let on. Sometimes, though, it was unavoidable, and more often that Dean would like he’d find himself heading south to take care of a case, either as a favor to another hunter or because they were still, miraculously, nearer to the area than anyone else.

Neither of those were the reasons for this journey, though. Sure, Bobby had called them and asked them to take care of things, but Dean would hardly consider a request from Bobby as doing the older hunter a favor. And they’d been in fucking Oklahoma when they’d gotten the call, which had lead them on a long-haul journey to the tip of Florida, and that was why they’d had to agree to drop everything for the sake of one damn rogue vampire.

Dean hated the south in general, sure, but there was nothing he hated more than the fucking coast. And, as it turns out, there was little other hunters hated more, either. It was no-man’s land, where only the bravest or, in most cases, stupidest hunters dared to actually work, and as Bobby found out the number of hunters willing to take cases that close to the ocean was growing slimmer with every passing year. One day, Dean knew that would spell trouble; how long did they have, after all, before monsters started to realize how unwilling hunters were, and then all they’d have to do to stay safe would be to hide out along the coast for a couple of weeks, wait it out and then venture back into the world. Deep down, he knew it wouldn’t happen for a long time – the fear wasn’t limited to hunters, after all, it was instinctual nowadays. Even if your regular Joe didn’t know jack about vampires and all the other shit that plagued the night, they sure as hell knew about the dangers in the open water, and mankind and supernatural alike had all learned quickly to stay away.

The ocean was no-man’s land. It had been forever, as far as Dean was concerned; since before he was born, anyway, and even Bobby had said that he’d never been in anything other than the man-made lakes that had become popular. Open water was seraph territory – and seraphs weren’t something Dean would wish on anything, supernatural or not. They were terrifyingly aggressive and territorial, and were willing to attack anything they so much as thought might be a threat, leading to beaches strewn with corpses, human and aquatic alike.

When they’d first been discovered, they hadn’t been quite so bad. According to the stories, they’d been more curious than anything, although Dean had the feeling that was more of a trick than anything, a way to get the humans to come closer to them, a way to figure out what made humans tick so that the seraph could determine who had the upper hand. They’d stolen things off of boats, but for a while that was the worst crime they’d committed – and then, some scientist had gotten cocky, and he’d tried to capture one of seraphs so that they could bring it to a lab. Dean could understand the curiosity; the seraphs were an anomaly, some sort of half-human octopus hybrid creatures, and back then scientists had been reveling over the finding of the ‘missing link’ and the ‘answer to all their evolutionary questions’.

But the seraph hadn’t responded well to the scientist, and the second the net entered the water and made contact with one of them all hell broke loose. His ship was the first to be taken down, thick masses of tentacles wrapping around it and tearing through the hull, dismantling it like it was made of clay. Any of the boats nearby had faced a similar fate, their losses marked down as unfortunate casualties, and for weeks people were finding jaggedly torn apart fragments of bodies washed up along the beach.  
Society’s shock hadn’t lasted long; pretty soon countries were reveling for a common cause, the need to assert mankind’s dominance uniting forces, an all-out war breaking out. The thing was, the seraphs just wouldn’t die. Even now, hunters had yet to figure out how to kill the damned things, and the human death toll just kept going up, no matter what weapons were used, until eventually the beaches were cordoned off and the war was abandoned without a word. Thousands upon thousands of lost lives, all written off as being utterly useless, a complete waste because not a single seraph had lost their life during the entire ordeal.

That had been years ago, and now the seraph were hardly ever mentioned. They were tales told to children at night, nightmare material to remind them why they shouldn’t ever go near the water, lest the hellish creatures drag them down into the depths of the sea, where no man ever came back. The people that still insisted on swimming kept to ponds and lakes, where no seraph had ever been found, and a good deal of countries had taken to building more man-made lakes to make up for the sudden loss of the oceans. Boats had become the transport of the past, and while Dean knew some people still stubbornly clung to them and would insist on using them in the larger lakes, most people had decided they just weren’t worth the risk. Too many had gone down, even after the fighting had stopped, as the seraphs apparently had decided anything entering their claimed territory was a threat.

The hunters had been the most stubborn about giving up the fight; Dean had seen Bobby carrying around books and journals full of information gathered before the war, pouring over them to see if he could find the missing key and end things once and for all, get rid of the danger so that people could go back to living their lives without being afraid of the things under the waves. And Dean knew there were other hunters doing the same, desperate to prove that everything could be killed, seraphs included, and determined to get justice for all of the people that had been carelessly sent to their deaths. They’d been unsuccessful, obviously, as to this day beaches were abandoned. The only people stupid enough to go near them were some nature-lovers who insisted on making their rounds and keeping the beaches clean (which, as they’d found out early on, normally meant cleaning up decaying fish that was a little too far up on the beach to have simply been washed ashore) and equally productive college kids, who thought spending the night by the ocean somehow made them bad-asses. Dean was willing to bet just as much time was spent cleaning up beer cans and dismantling bonfires as taking care of the fish-gut problem, but hey, that was just him.

It was one of the many reasons Dean and John had been worried when Sam decided to go to Stanford – Stanford, for fuck’s sake, where they were certain there’d be stupid college kids with their initiation ceremonies, and there were plenty of beaches to dare equally stupid freshman to go swimming in. And while Sam was by no means stupid, and he sure as hell wasn’t sheltered from the dangers of the world, he wanted approval and he wanted to fit in with the ‘normal’ kids, and Dean had constantly been worried that would lead to his little brother doing something stupid. As it turns out he didn’t have to worry, Sam hadn’t so much as dipped his toe into the ocean during his entire college experience, but all the same; Dean would be lying if he said he wasn’t relieve when Sam finally gave up college and took to being on the road with Dean again. As long as he was around, he’d be there to throw himself in front of anything that came after his brother, and he’d be able to keep him away from anything that Dean couldn’t just stop, like the seraph prowling the ocean.

Sometimes, though, they didn’t have a choice. Like today. Like the stupid vampire that should have been an easy kill but was actually really fucking fast, and because it had taken to hunting down near the damn coast no other hunter was willing to ‘waste their time’ with it except for Sam and Dean. And really, Dean wouldn’t have been so pissed if it hadn’t involved a fucking long-ass drive that had eaten way too much of their already small amount of money on gas (because, hey, as much as he loved his baby he had to admit they spent more money on gas than they could really afford to) and he had wanted to be out of this damn state yesterday but Bobby had failed to mention that the damn vampire had apparently set the Guinness World Record for fast running.

At least the thing was stupid; it hadn’t taken them that long to find it, he left a clear trail of bodies with no regard for cleaning up after himself. Dean was surprised the police hadn’t caught on by now, even if they couldn’t do anything he’d expected to see a couple of uniformed corpses from the attempt. Luckily (he guessed) he and Sam had been the first one to put everything together. Unluckily, that had happened at night and near a forest, which had resulted in a long, high-speed chase on fucking foot. They’d stayed together for a while, close enough to see the vampire but too far away to actually reach it, and with every passing moment Dean was becoming more and more aware of how one small trip would cause him to fall down and he’d probably land on his machete.

When it first disappeared, they’d assumed it had just gotten a little bit ahead of them and kept going. Then they realized the paths were splitting up; one of them kept low, while the other steadily rose up. They didn’t have a lot of time to make a choice, not if they wanted to keep the thing within catching distance, and Dean was actually kind of happy when his brother decided to take the higher road, because that left him with the easier, level ground path where he’d be less likely to lose his footing and accidentally kill himself.  
After that Dean had spent most of his time scanning the area ahead of him and straining to hear something, anything. There was no way this thing had gone from being ridiculously careless to completely silent, a trained killer if Dean had ever seen one – maybe it had taken the other path, then, maybe Sam was just catching up to it, raising his blade and trying to monitor his speed so he’d be able to lob it’s head off without simultaneously dooming himself. Dean felt himself start to slow down, breathing erratic and lungs burning, when he heard a twig snap and felt his muscles seize up.

He whirled around, certain that the sound had been close, and even worse; he was pretty sure it had been coming from behind him, not in front of him, and if that was the case – Dean jerked back around just as the vampire came into view, lunging towards him with clear purpose. He took off further into the woods, knowing his advantage was lost; by the time he’d gotten the blade up and ready, it’d have already knocked him to the ground. He’ d have to run, try and regain some ground and hope that he could either find an opening or find a place to hide until he had another chance.

How the hell had the thing managed to screw them over like that? He kept running, now painfully aware of every sound the creature was making; it was loud, obnoxiously so, so if Dean hadn’t heard it before it was because it hadn’t been moving before, which meant it had probably been hiding on them. They’d probably passed right by it ages ago, and it’d been tracking them down ever since, waiting for the right time to strike. And, of course, Dean would be the unlucky bastard that it decided to follow, because Dean was the one was who hot and tired and Sam was the one who had stripped off a few of his layers before they started running. Dean was still decked out in his full suit, tie flopping as he ran and tie constricting around his neck.

He’d probably have to get a new suit after all of this was over; he had the feeling this one had been torn apart, if the many branches he’d run into had been any indicator. And he could feel the uneven terrain through his shoes, which meant he’d more than likely accidently pierced a hole into the bottom of them, so he’d need new shoes, too. Damn it. This case was sucking more with every passing moment. Not to mention the bottom of his pants were probably stained beyond what a throw in the washing machine could fix.  
His pace slowed again when the break in the woods had gotten larger, the trees thinning enough so bits of light flooded through. It was, at first, relieving – the light gave him a better chance to assess, he could see the ground he was running on and reaffirm that the land really was as even as he was hoping, which calmed his worries about falling or even just losing his balance for a moment. Either way, he was sure it’d give the vamp behind him the edge that he needed, and it would spell disaster for him.  
Then he realized he could practically see how close the vampire was, a clear presence out of the corner of his eye, the shadow falling over Dean’s own as the thing reached forward and nearly grabbed the end of his suit jacket. Fucking layers. And all the while, Dean still hadn’t found the opening he so desperately needed if he was going to turn things in his favor; if he stopped now the thing wouldn’t be able to, and before Dean had a chance to lift up his blade it would have barreled into him, and in all likelihood Dean would lose his grip on the only vampire-killing weapon he had on him. He picked up his speed again, ignoring how his lungs were burning and how his heart was pounding so loud and hard he could practically imagine it pumping hard enough to burst out of his chest. Before long, the trees had gone from spare to non-existent, the leafy ground beneath him slowly transforming into an entirely different kind of terrain.

Dean had to fight every instinct in him, all of which were now begging him to turn around and go back, back into the woods, regardless of the vampire that was undoubtedly waiting for him to do just that. He forced himself to keep going, even as his feet hit the last patch of leaves, wet and slick, and he stumbled but managed to right himself before he face planted into the sandy ground underneath him.

Luckily, the vampire behind him had slowed down as well, which was when realization finally dawned on Dean – the damned thing had planned this. It had laid a trap for them, and Dean had almost perfectly fallen for it – if he had gone with his gut, he would have turned right back around and ran straight into the vampire, which would have had no trouble fighting him and would have had the better stamina. Dean was a good fighter, but he was out of breath and this thing had the upper hand – it knew the land, knew where to go and where to hide, and that would help it to beat Dean. But he’d kept going, and he had the feeling it hadn’t planned for that. He turned around, even as he kept walking forward, not feeling the need to run anymore.

The vampire was staring at him with a mixture of curiosity and shock. He was still under the cover of the trees, the leafy branches casting shadows over the creature and making him nearly blend in with the darkness. Dean could sense its impatience from here; its feet were twitching, grinding down on the leaves beneath him. It was waiting – Dean couldn’t stay on the beach forever, after all, where was he going to go? He cast a desperate look behind him, careful not to take his eyes off the vampire for too long. The beach went on for a little ways, but ultimately it ended with water. The only choice of land was the forest that the vampire was blocking off.  
Other than that? Ocean. Pure, open water, the one place no hunter would dare go. So Dean could sit on the beach, sure, and hope that Sam would eventually realize that he wasn’t chasing after the vampire, and maybe he’d double back and make his way down Dean’s path (or maybe he’d figure Dean could handle a single vampire, after all, Sam wouldn’t know that the thing had gotten behind them and was chasing Dean now, so his brother could just wind up going back to their motel room and waiting for Dean there), but if Sam didn’t come? He was going to have to make a choice. Judging from the way the vampire was leaning forward, Dean had the feeling pretty soon it’d find the courage to step onto the beach, and then there’d be little for Dean to do.

He took the moment to catch his breath. He wanted to taunt the damned thing, wanted to try and convince it to come out – maybe if he did, there’d be an opening, something just big enough for Dean to dart though so he could get back into the forest. His lungs protested the thought of another run like that, though, and Dean couldn’t find the energy in him to figure out what to say. He settled for staring it down, taking a few steps back every time he felt like it had finally gained the courage to come out, until finally he had caught his breath enough to start shouting at it, determined to use whatever had to to gain the upper hand. He didn’t like being out here any more than it did, and he’d do damn near anything even if it meant losing the vampire for the day.

“Well, come on then!” He shouted, waving his hands out to his side, ushering the vampire forward. He was still, now, and the hand holding the machete was steady – if the thing would just lose control and charge at him, Dean knew he could take it down no problem, and then everything would be taken care of. “You just gonna stand there?” His voice got louder with every word, and while he knew he should be careful, should be quieter – he was announcing his presence, as it was, and there were things so much worse than a single stupid vampire out here, but he couldn’t stop, and as long as he stayed alert he should be fine. He took another step back when the vampire edged forward, trying to piss it off and get it to charge at him, when his feet suddenly stepped into something wet, water quickly soaking through.

He glanced down, realizing with horror that he’d stepped too far back; his feet were submerged in the ocean water, deep enough where the soft waves were tickling at his ankles, plastering his filthy pants to his skin and soaking his socks thanks to the holes that he now had confirmation were in his shoes. He tried to force his legs up, fear edging into him – this wasn’t good, this wasn’t a good place to be at all, he had to get out of the water, but his limbs felt liked rusted metal, impossible to move, like the ocean had opened up just enough to grab at his feet and keep him in place. He glanced over at the vampire, staring at him with wide eyes, and gulped. It wasn’t moving any closer, not anymore, and maybe if Dean just stayed here, that would be enough?

But no, of course not, the thing started twitching again once it saw that Dean had stopped moving. It took a tentative step out onto the beach, glancing around like it was surprised something hadn’t already come to kill them. Dean bit his lip and stared back down at his feet, at the blue water running over his black shoes. Okay. He could do this. The vampire was still too close to the woods, he wouldn’t be able to get over there in time. It would easily be able to step back and block off the small opening, long before Dean had a chance to actually get through it. And, surely, a little while in the water wouldn’t do anything? When was the last time someone had gotten killed in there, anyway? Dean couldn’t remember the last body they’d found – although, really, what comfort was that, how many bodies hadn’t they found, how many ships had sunk without so much as a trace about what happened to the sailors and how many beachgoers had disappeared long before that, the lack of body written off as a mystery of the sea? But still. It’s not like he had to go in very deep, just deep enough where the vampire wouldn’t be able to grab him without getting in the water himself, and surely it wouldn’t be willing to risk its life just to kill Dean.

Dean shook his head, resolved, and started to step back again, slowly turning around to face the expansive ocean as he waded into it. He knew how to swim, had learned in a lake when he was young, and while he wouldn’t say he was a great swimmer he was certainly good enough to keep himself afloat for a while, especially if he didn’t really go too deep. He waded out just deep enough where he had to tread water, though if he turned his foot just right his toes could barely brush against the bed of sand below him. He turned around again, glaring the vampire down, practically begging it to come into the water with him.

This time, fear kept him from talking. A million taunts filled his mind, all of which were pushed to the side – he wasn’t going to push his luck, not here of all places. He was lucky, he knew that, and maybe that meant nothing was here or maybe it meant the seraph were over their killing escapades, but Dean had the feeling it was more likely the things just didn’t know he was here yet, and yelling the many curses and taunts and obscenities he wanted to would only alert them to his presence, and being ripped apart by tentacle monsters really didn’t make his list for ways he’d be cool dying. The silence weighed down on him, heavy and overbearing to the point where he wanted to scream just to escape from the unsettling atmosphere; it was too quiet, too much, his breathing had finally slowed down and he’d taken another couple of steps back, torn between being nervous about the seraphs and the vampire, and now he really did have to tread water just to stay afloat. The sound of his body bobbing up and down in the water was quiet, a slight obtrusion, enough to make him fearful that the seraph might notice but not enough of a sound to make him start feeling comfortable.

The quiet meant he was alone with his thoughts, meant he had nothing else to do but sit and wait, see what the vampire did and try and focus on every damned sound that he did hear (and some that he was sure weren’t there, some that he passed off as being nothing – the water lapping against his skin might seem to be louder one minute then the next, but certainly that was just his imagination, right? And while he’d felt something brush along his foot for the longest amount of time, it was easy to pass that off as being a fish or some plant, or something – there were no suckers, after all, and whatever it was was just sort of tickling his foot, not grabbing onto him and tearing off his leg, so it couldn’t be a seraph. No, just a plant, maybe seaweed, just him moving his arm wrong and making the water randomly churn a little harder against him.). How long did he have, he wondered, before he’d have to admit he’d pushed his luck a little too much for one night and the need to get out of the water would be too overwhelming to ignore? He knew he could tread water for a long time – and even if he got tired, he could just roll onto his back and focus on not drifting too far out. The problem was, if there were seraphs out here – how long did he have until they noticed him? Maybe they wouldn’t. Maybe he was too close to shore (which was nonsense, he knew, he’d heard the stories of teenagers who’d barely put their feet in the water only to get their legs ripped out from under them, but he really didn’t want to think about that right about now) or maybe this area had been deserted. Maybe they made patrols, and Dean had picked a lucky time to go out for a swim and they wouldn’t be back around to notice him for hours, maybe even days.  
Or maybe they were laying a trap for him, waiting until he got comfortable or until he started to swim back to shore, and just when he was about to step out of the water they’d tear him apart. Maybe they liked him thinking he was safe, liked the idea of a human thinking that they’d managed to pull one over on them only to prove to them at the last minute just how wrong they were. By this point his muscles were on fire, the stress and fear weighing him down. Dean sucked in a breath, willing his body to calm down as he prepared himself to plunge further into the water. He had to see, had to at least look around – even if he couldn’t see a lot under water, even if the sting of the salty sea would be painful and would make him have to come up after a brief moment, at least he’d be able to see if there was a shadow or something. At least he’d know for sure if something really was waiting to kill him. It wouldn’t do him much good, but it gave him peace of mind, and besides – maybe he’d get down there and there wouldn’t be anything, and all of this would have been nothing, and the vampire would see him go under and assume a seraph had gotten him, so he’d probably take off out of fear, and then Dean could finally get out of the damn water.

He very nearly screamed in relief when he found that he didn’t have to do that, as the vampire suddenly must have decided he just wasn’t worth the trouble the open water provided. With a look of pure indignation, it snarled at Dean and turned away, barreling back down the path it had come, nearly stumbling in its haste. It was gone before Dean so much had let out the breath he’d taken in, and he chuckled softly as he continued to kick about in the water, trying to dislodge whatever piece of seaweed had managed to catch around his ankle. Of course there was nothing in the water, he might be a hunter but his luck wasn’t that bad, this plan hadn’t been anywhere near as bad as he’d first thought it was. He kept laughing to himself, finally daring to talk, though it was more of a soft whisper to himself than anything.  
“Damn vampires,” he laughed again before yelling towards its already gone figure, “fucking pansy!” With a soft sigh he finally gave up on the seaweed, as gross as it felt once he started swimming away it’d no longer be a problem – and if it was, if it was just some free floating piece that was knotting against him, that was something he could take care of once he was out of the water. As confident as he was feeling now, he knew the hype would wear off and he couldn’t deny the shaky feeling that had settled in the pit of his stomach, warning him that nothing good could come from a vampire turning tail that fast. One minute it had looked ready for a damn sit in, and the next it was snarling and running back from where it’d come from.

And he and Sam were going to have to chase the damn thing down again, and Sam was going to give him hell twofold; for letting it get the best of him and for considering the fucking ocean a safe place to hide out. Maybe he’d just leave out that part. What Sam didn’t know wouldn’t kill him.

He started to lurch forward, ready to swim back to the relatively safe shore line, suddenly becoming aware of just how fucking wet his clothes were, and while he hoped they still had their spare set in the truck of the Impala that was still a decent hike away (and through the fucking woods, that was going to be miserable, and if he was going to try lying to Sam he’d have to somehow miraculously make it back to the car before him and that was going to be damn near impossible, so it looked like Sam was going to wind up getting super-pissed at him tonight), when he heard a loud scream. He looked up, still swimming, eyebrows knitting together as he took in the figure standing on the edge of the cliff, seemingly staring down at him while his hands waved erratically in the air. It looked like Sam, though from this far of a distance he couldn’t be sure – but his brother was tall, and that set him apart from most, which made Dean feel pretty confident in deciding the screaming man was his little brother. Who was probably pissed at Dean for getting in the water, which was understandable, hey, Dean had expected that, but it was kinda stupid for Sam to be yelling at him like that when Dean was still in the water, wasn’t it? Whatever. It makes Dean’s stomach clench a little more, and he starts picking up his pace, one arm rising out of the water so he can start to make his way back to the shore.  
That same arm promptly falls back into the ocean when the bit of seaweed suddenly seems to fucking clench down on him, wrapping around his ankle and tugging at him hard, hard enough to pull Dean back and erase any progress he’d made, and shit, seaweed didn’t do that. He turns around, angle awkward and painful, arms flailing about in the water as he tries to keep his head above the now churning waves, and lets out a panicked shriek when he sees the pale face staring back at him, a mass of tentacles barely able to be seen hiding under the water, with a few daring to poke out of the sea. They’re all reaching towards Dean, and he feels his body go rigid even as he knows it’s useless, feels himself start to pull away, desperately tugging himself back and nearly throwing his body in the opposite direction of the seraph. For a moment he thinks he’d maybe managed it, there’s a little give in the grip and he manages to kick his bound leg up out of the water, until his other leg brushes against something slick that promptly wraps around it, twirling its way up past his ankle and around his knee, constricting tight enough where Dean can’t so much as bend his leg.

And now he can’t even scream, doesn’t dare to try, because with only two arms keeping him afloat he’s barely keeping his head above the water and at any point he’s sure he’s going to wind up taking in a great big breath of salt water. But then again, he thinks, as another tentacle winds its way up and around his waist, tightening just like the other two had, suckers clinging to Dean’s slick skin and forming a vice grip on him before tugging him back towards the powerful creature, maybe that’d be better, maybe drowning would be the best thing that could happen to him right now, because otherwise he’s about to get torn apart and that, that is going to be painful. If he was smart right about now he’d just stick his head under the waves and try and drown himself as quickly as he fucking could.

And what’s worse is he can still hear Sam screaming at him, and his brother is going to have to watch him get torn to pieces and he’ll have to finish the rest of the hunt by himself and he’ll probably take it upon himself to clean up whatever remains of Dean land on the beach. He’s going to hear Dean screaming, because he knows once that level of pain sets in nothing is going to stop him from yelling his damned lungs out. In the very least, he thinks, he can take away that last one; he can make sure Sam doesn’t wake up at night remembering Dean screaming in agony, if he just lowers his head and ends things now, quickly, and on his own damn terms.

His lips touch the water and he’s about to take in a gulp of seawater when he gets yanked up, a very-human hand fisting in his hair, tugging his head up and pressing it against a wet chest, keeping him from following through on his plan. Of course, whatever these things are they’re sick and twisted and they probably get some kind of sick pleasure from hearing their victims scream in terror and in pain, and Dean wouldn’t be allowed to deprive it of that. Hell, if the thing knew Sam was up on the cliff (and it probably did, Sam wasn’t being quiet, after all) then it was probably getting off on that, too, it probably enjoyed having a human audience watch as it flaunted its power. He beats at the things chest, desperately trying to get some space between them again and ignoring how the hand in his hair tightens, tugging on the short strands hard enough to make tears well in Dean’s eyes. The tentacles holding him grip on a little tighter, more of them making their way onto his body, wrapping around both of his legs and securing them together before others wind their way up and around his waist, shoving Dean’s body so that he’s right up against the seraph. Its other arm wraps around his waist, wedging underneath the tentacles, fingertips brushing against Dean’s ribs in a tender action that makes Dean shiver despite himself, his eyes shuttering shut as he waits for the first pull, the first tug that will start the process of dismembering his body.

He only opens them when he feels his balance suddenly shift, water lapping against his back and sides and rushing around them – he’s being dragged away, the thing is taking him further away from the coast, and that doesn’t make any sense at all. Why would it care where it killed him, why was it doing this? Was it going to play with him, abandon him at sea until he couldn’t swim anymore, wait until he started to drown and then lift him out of the water so it could finish the job of killing him?

What if it was going to eat him? He had no idea how these things reproduced, what if this one had a whole group of kids waiting somewhere and Dean was about to become their lunch, and they’d tear him apart while he was still alive? He couldn’t even more, now, the suckers were pressing into his skin too tight and his arms were trapped between his and the seraph’s chest, so beating at the monster was no longer an option. He heard a splash and tried to force his head away, shaking slightly to see if he could dislodge the fingers still gripping his hair, but if anything they held him tighter. Dean frowned, eyes twitching in pain as he tried to look out at the side, desperate to see what the sound had been. Was it another seraph, splashing about and announcing its presence, maybe asking this one to share its new toy? He tensed his muscles, trying hard to get just a little bit of room, something to wiggle around it and maybe then he could get more space, and maybe he could break away and desperately try to swim towards safety.

But by this point, he realized, a cold sense of dread running through his veins, it wouldn’t matter. Seraph’s were made for the water, were fast and fluid and could overtake the fastest of ships. Even if he somehow, miraculously, managed to get away from the thing, it wouldn’t be for long. It had tentacles long enough to reach him and pull him right back in, and even if Dean tried to swim as hard and fast as he possibly could, it would easily overpower him. And he was too far away from the shore to make it by shear dumb luck, too far away to jerk and stumble his way onto the sandy beach, where he could hope the thing just wouldn’t want to come out of the water and then he’d be safe.  
No, that plan wouldn’t work. No plan would. Of all the things to get caught by, he had to be caught by the one that not even a hunter stood any feasible chance of getting away from – no wonder the vampire had turned tail, it didn’t need to kill Dean anymore. He was a dead man, probably from the second his feet touched the water.  
He forced himself to take another breath of air. Tried to relax his muscles, already sore from the tension. Maybe it’d be over quick. Maybe he’d pass out before things got too bad.

At least Sam wasn’t going to be here.

* * *

 

Castiel swam about, flexing his tentacles as he used them to propel himself through the water, darting back and forth through the waves. He’d spent the day continuing to fix up his nest, ensuring that it was kept clean and sorting through the pile of seashells he’d drudged up through the past week. He’d been collecting the shells since he matured, anything that he found interesting or pretty or pleasing to touch got added, which had now built up to be a rather impressive pile in the corner of the cave he’d found. He hoped his mate would appreciate them as much as he did – they were all sorts of colors, some vibrant and smooth and others a more plain shade, with rough edges that felt nice when Castiel dragged his tentacles across them. It gave him something to do as he waited, something to keep the boredom that clawed at him at bay. He was down near one of the many human-occupied coasts, although humans hadn’t been near the edge of the water in some time. Every once in a while there’d be a massive group of them, though, and Castiel lived for these moments. He’d sit below the waves, far enough where they’d never be able to see him, and he’d listen as they screamed and laughed, trying his best to pick up as much of their language as he could and mouthing new words to himself when it came time to head back to his nest.

He was batting around at some fish that had dared to swim too close to him when he first heard it. The sound was muffled, obviously coming from above the water and a decent ways away, more towards the coast than Castiel had ever been. Someone was shouting, loud enough for it to carry over to where Castiel was lounging about, sounding angry and hostile with a slight undercurrent of fear, the same sort of tone he’d heard before, right before some of the humans would stick their feet in the water. They’d always shriek, after, and get out as fast as they could, staring at the waves expectantly and seeming almost disappointed when nothing happened. Castiel could never understand it.

But right now, none of that mattered to him. He was barreling off towards the sound of the voice before he fully understood what he was doing, moving through the water as fast as he possibly could. The human kept shouting, voice definitely male, and now Castiel was close enough where he could smell him.

And _oh_ , that smell, it was everything Castiel had never known – it smelled fresh and open, sweet and inviting, the kind of scent that he wanted to bury himself in. The kind of smell he wanted in his nest, he wanted to come back to it after he finished hunting, wanted to hide it away and keep it to himself, as a pleasure only he would ever have the opportunity to experience. _Mate_. He’d found his mate, finally, after so long searching, his mate had finally come to him and now he could take him back and they could start their life together! He made a shrilling sound, as loud as he could, desperate to warn off any other seraph that might be in the area, anyone that might want to touch his mate.

He slowed his pace as he got closer, a pair of legs and arms kicking under the waves as the human tried to keep himself afloat. Castiel held himself in check. He wanted to rush over and help the man, wanted to wrap his tentacles around him and keep him afloat so that he wouldn’t have to struggle as much as he was. His parents had told him stories, though, stories from the seraphs that had taken human mates. Humans weren’t as perceptive as seraphs; they weren’t as sensitive to their mates’ presence. Castiel couldn’t imagine that. Knowing that you’d found your mate was such a rush, such an invigorating feeling – did humans ever feel it? He couldn’t imagine going through numerous mates before he found the one he was meant to be with. How would he even know if it was his mate, if he didn’t sense it? How did any human know that they’d wound up with the right partner, that they’d settled down with the mate that they deserved?

He wanted this human to register him as his mate immediately, but he knew that would never happen. And humans were so scared of the water, it was so uncommon for them to enter it anymore, he didn’t want to do anything that would risk having his mate try to run away from him. He knew he’d be able to keep the human with him; he was so much stronger than they were, but he hated the thought of frightening his mate, however short the fear may last. So he held himself in check, kept himself from wrapping himself around his mate like he desperately wanted to.

Instead, he let a tentacle reach out, draping around the man’s foot. He let it brush over a few times, noting with satisfaction that the man didn’t even seem to notice him. He kept kicking, keeping himself up, completely ignorant to Castiel’s careful pushes, small nudges that made Castiel feel slightly better – he was keeping his mate afloat, and he was close enough where if those slight pushes weren’t enough, he’d be able to reach out and grab him.

He carefully lifted his head up above the water, moving slowly so as not to make too much noise. He was curious; the man had been shouting, so clearly there must have been someone else on the shore, and whoever it was had angered his mate and made him take shelter in the water. While Castiel was grateful for that (he was strong even on land, but he hardly wanted his mate’s first impression of him to be him flopping about on a dirty beach, and that certainly would have happened if Castiel had to dredge himself up on to land in order to reach the man), he was also slightly panicked. Humans knew how dangerous the water was – certainly the man only would have come if something dangerous was on land.

And maybe Castiel was being overly optimistic, but he liked to think that this was proof that his parents had been wrong about humans. Clearly they had some semblance of understanding about mates – this man had been drawn here, to Castiel, after all. He’d gone to the ocean knowing Castiel would keep him safe, so clearly he must have registered that his true mate was out in the water.

His eyes raked over the coast, searching out whatever his mate was yelling at, while he scented the air around him. The smell of his mate was stronger now than before, nearly overpowering, and it made it difficult for Castiel to focus on anything other than the need to wrap himself around the human and drag him back to their nest, lay him down in the bed and keep him there until the entire area smelled just like his delicious scent. He forced himself to stay calm, another tentacle darting out to brush against the man’s other foot, movements as erratic as he could make them.

He nearly hissed when he finally found both the body and the scent – an underlying smell of blood and death, a fowl scent that shouldn’t be anywhere near that of his mate, and there, hiding just by the edge of the forest, a _vampire_. A vampire had dared to come after his mate, dared to chase him and frighten him to the point where he’d had to go to Castiel for help!

He wanted to rip the abomination apart. Wanted to tear him to pieces and scatter them in the ocean. Certainly that would impress his mate, a powerful display of dominance and proof that he was willing and capable of defending him. The man would be _begging_ Castiel to take him back as his mate after that.

But the vampire wasn’t quite that stupid, and he wouldn’t step closer. Castiel couldn’t get out of the water, not now; he didn’t trust that something wouldn’t happen to his mate if he were to leave him even for such a small amount of time. He reared up a little, letting the light of the moon catch on his pale skin, announcing his presence to the vampire and flashing it a smile when it saw him. He bit back the rumble of satisfaction that passed through him when it suddenly snarled and fell back, running back into the forest it’d come from.

Castiel sighed, letting himself relax. While the ending might not have been what he wanted, his instincts still screaming for bloodshed and vengeance, the threat was gone. He tried to remind himself that in the end, that was all that really mattered. His tentacle kept brushing against his mate’s feet, pushing up along the bottom of his shoe to ensure he stayed afloat. He fought against the urge to either tug the offending shoe off or stick his tentacle through one of the many holes littering the surface – anything, he’d do anything to finally have full contact with his mate, contact that wasn’t impeded on by stupid clothing. He was getting desperate – he needed that physical contact, wanted to feel what he knew would be warm, smooth skin, tender and fragile. So easily breakable, especially under Castiel’s powerful limbs. But he’d never hurt his mate. He’d just mark it up, mark it like it was practically already begging him to, leave impressions from his suckers and bite the tender flesh until his imprints were left everywhere, a reminder to anything that may cross his mate’s path that he was taken as a seraph’s mate, and thus not to be touched or bothered. He couldn’t wait to stake his claim and ownership onto the man.

But not now, he reminded himself, not yet. Once he started, he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop. It would set off every instinct in him, until he was no more than a slave to his natural design and hormones. He’d risk scaring his mate in his haste, and that was, ultimately, unnecessary. The human wasn’t going anywhere. Castiel wasn’t going to lose him. He could afford to fight his needs off, could afford to be patient and take his time.

That train of thought lasted for only a few seconds, the same amount of time it took for his mate to suddenly lift an arm up out of the water and start to swim away from him. Castiel’s mind screamed its rage, the sound almost making it out into the open as more of his tentacles surged out towards the man, demanding to wrap around him and stop his unacceptable behavior.

The tentacle nearest his mate, the one that had been carefully pressing up against his foot, jerked up first and wrapped around his ankle, snapping tight and tugging. If the man hadn’t been aware of his presence before, he certainly was now, and Castiel smiled as his mate suddenly tensed and turned around, staring at Castiel as he was tugged back. The human’s eyes widened as more limbs reaching out of the water, lurching towards him.

And this, Castiel realized, was the first chance he’d gotten to see his mate’s face. The man was beautiful, tanned, freckled skin that Castiel wanted to explore. He wanted to see how many freckles decorated his lovely mate’s skin, wanted to run his suckers over him and create designs of his own. He had green eyes that reminded Castiel of seaweed and moss, of the small patches of green on the island where he’d built their nest. Even with the slightly panicked look on his face, he still looked perfect, still looked like everything Castiel had ever dreamed about, whenever he dared to think of what his mate might be like. He was someone Castiel desperately wanted to protect, wanted to hold underneath him and keep him safe and out of reach of anything else in the world.

Another human was shouting in the distance, words slurring together to the point where Castiel couldn’t make them out – was he a rival, a _human_ courtship rival? He scented the air again, desperate to see if this other human was trying to step into what was clearly Castiel’s territory, raising a tentacle out of the water to show his full length. How dare a _human_ challenge him, how dare a human attempt to best a seraph and steal their mate. He felt a growl rise up his throat, forcing the sound down as he took in the still-frightened look on his mate’s face. The man was still struggling, the leg Castiel was holding suddenly kicked out of the water as his mate continued to attempt to get away.

Castiel frowned at the attempts, and continued to wrap his tentacles around his mate’s stiff body. He grabbed the man’s other leg and pulled him back into the water, careful to try and keep the human’s head above the water as he tugged him back, reaching out with his hands once the man was close enough to him. Another tentacle wrapped around the man’s waist, and now Castiel was confident he had enough of a grip to be able to manipulate the man however he liked. No one was getting his mate away from him.

He feels a swell of panic rise up in him when his mate’s mouth gets too close to the water, lips opening up and _no_ , Castiel thinks, one hand grabbing at the man’s head, fingers curling into his short hair and pulling his head away from the water. He knows better, won’t allow his mate to risk drowning, not after waiting so long for him. His hand fists into the man’s hair, tight and unyielding as he forces the head to rest against his shoulder. That, he reasons, should be a safe distance away from the water – as long as Castiel kept on his back, his mate would be safe from the risk of drowning. And it brought his scent that much closer to him.

Hands are beating at his chest, though Castiel pointedly ignores them. His mate is still scared, that’s all, he’ll warm up once Castiel has him safe in their nest. He’ll watch over the human as they sleep and everything would be fine come morning. More tentacles wrap around the man, curling around his waist and binding his legs together, pulling him in until he’s flush against Castiel’s chest, unable to continue to pound against him. His free hand reaches up to shove underneath his tentacles, wrapping around the man’s back, fingers brushing against the human’s waist and curling up to rub against his ribs.

His mate is wearing so many layers of clothing – Castiel wants them gone, wants to rip them off of him right here and now so that nothing is blocking him from touching the skin that he so desperately wants to feel. He has more clothes, back at the nest, barrels and chests he’d stolen off of boats back when human’s still traversed the seas, trinkets he had kept to impress his mate. At the time he’d worried that it was foolish, but now he found himself quite glad he’d snatched up so many human things. His mate would surely appreciate them – Castiel didn’t often see humans running about without some form of cloth covering them, though certainly not as many layers as his silly mate seemed fond of. Hopefully they could come to some sort of happy balance, where Castiel could still have easy access to skin. Layers just seemed ridiculous – what purpose did they serve? He would be there to keep his mate warm, and that was the only benefit he could think of when it came to the heavy clothing his mate had on. No, he wouldn’t need those anymore. Hopefully he’d pick up on that quickly.

When his mate’s eyes shut, Castiel finds that he immediately misses the warm green. He wants them open again, wants them always open, wants to be able to stare into them whenever he wishes. For now, however, he forces himself to brush that desire aside. He has time. He’ll have time to look at his mate, have time to memorize him, but first things first. He pushes himself onto his back and propels them off towards their nest, speed hindered by the fact that he has to remain above water. He dislikes swimming like this – with his mate on top of him, he fears anything could see him, could try and attack him. In response he winds more tentacles around the man, as many as he can spare without further impacting his speed, wrapping them tight until he is nearly cocooned, the majority of his body completely cut off from the rest of the world. That, at least, eases some of the fear rising up in him.

There’s a splash, back towards the shore, and Castiel doesn’t need to look to see that the other human who’d been vying for his mate’s attention has jumped into the water. A stupid choice – doesn’t he know how dangerous these waters can be? The other human is risking his life, and for no good reason – he certainly must understand that he stands no chance against a seraph. Castiel is not going to give up his mate to anyone, especially not a human, and _especially_ not a human who couldn’t even catch up with him.

His mate has apparently heard the sound, too, and is now twisting around in his hold, trying to see what’s joined them in the water. Castiel tutts in disapproval, sound too low for the human to hear, and strengths his grip a little more. He has to be careful, he doesn’t want to hurt the man but all the same he needs to show his mate that he is the dominant, and he will not stand for his mate staring at anyone or anything else.

He smiles when the man finally relaxes in his grip, pliant and dependent on him. It’s satisfying, knowing that he is now the only thing keeping his mate afloat, knowing that his mate trusts him to take care of him. The feeling intensifies when Castiel looks down again, as they get closer to their nest, and notes that his mate has fallen asleep against his chest, face relaxed and hands splayed out over his chest. The other human had disappeared from sight long ago, adding to Castiel’s pleasure, and as he made the final lurch into their nest it was all he could do not to screech in satisfaction.

He doesn’t want to disturb his mate, though, so he settles for lifting the man up and out of the water, carefully placing him into the bed he’d made before rising up to get in himself. He adjusts them quickly and carefully, pulling until the man is wrapped up in his tentacles again, secure and trapped – if the man wakes up first he won’t be able to leave, he’d be kept safe by Castiel. He presses a soft kiss to the man’s temple. As tired as he is, Castiel is eager for the morning, eager to properly meet his mate and start on his new life.

He’s still smiling when he finally falls asleep, mate tucked securely underneath him.

* * *

 

By the time the trees finally start to break and Sam can see a flash of sky, he’s panting hard and desperate to stop. His knees feel like he’s just finished running a marathon, and the overwhelming need to stop and take a breath is slowly becoming impossible to ignore.

He winds up stopping short when he realizes the reason the trees have all stopped – there’s a cliff, only a few feet in front of him, and at the speed he’d been going he very nearly ran himself off of it. He gulped, eye twitching as he noted some dirt he dislodged topple over the edge. Peering over the side, his eyes widen. The dirt keeps falling until it lands, surprisingly unceremoniously, in a pool of water. The ocean. He’d almost ran straight into the damn ocean.

A nervous laugh escapes him, as he runs a hand through his messy hair. Okay, so clearly the vampire hadn’t gone this way. Or, if it had, it’d screwed up and hadn’t stopped in time, and was now seraph food. That thought made the laughing stop – there was nothing funny about seraphs, nothing funny about the destruction they left behind. Sam wouldn’t wish that on anyone, monster included. There’d been talk, back in some of his courses at Stanford, about using the seraphs to replace the death penalty. Students seemed all-too-fond of the idea. They wanted to toss the worst of the worst into the ocean, let the seraphs deal with them. The idea had made Sam sick, made him question if maybe he was heading towards the wrong profession after all. Luckily, so far nothing had come from the talks. He hoped desperately it would stay that way – he hated to think about what the world would come to if people started using _them_ as a punishment. They were uncontrollable, and feeding them humans like that was asking for trouble.

Even here, up where he knew he was beyond their reach, he still didn’t feel safe. He’d seen the horror movies based on the seraphs, and while he didn’t want to give them _too_ much credit (he was, after all, pretty damn sure not even a bloodthirsty seraph would scale a sharp rocky cliff just to kill a single human) the feats they accused seraph’s of being capable of performing were alarming, to say the least. And confusing. How did they have any idea what the creatures were capable of, when they’d never really had a chance to look at one up close and in person? Which was a bad track to get onto, Sam realized, because that meant for all he knew they really would scale a cliff, and he wasn’t actually as safe up here as he thought he was.

He gulped and shook his head, trying to clear the thoughts from his mind. It was ridiculous, he reminded himself, even as he took a step back from the edge. No need to tempt fate, that’s all, it’s not that he was really worried or anything. And besides, he had more pressing things to worry about.

Like where the vampire had gone off to. If it hadn’t gone down his path, that meant it must have gone down Dean’s. That made sense, looking back. If the creature hunted in these parts, it must know the land. It knew Sam’s land ended in a cliff that would result in the vampire’s death. So Dean’s path must have gone somewhere safer, then, somewhere where the vampire might have the upper hand. Which was unfortunate for Dean, because hunting in the woods was obnoxious enough to begin with, let alone hunting with something that was cocky and knew the land far better than you. By this point Dean had probably already either taken care of the thing or lost it – either way, all Sam could do was head back and try and catch up. He sincerely hoped Dean had managed to take it down – although it hadn’t been particularly hard to track down, it was still a pain in the ass and he’d rather hit the road tonight than have to waste another couple of days in this town.

He turned with a sigh, about to head back into the woods when his eyes caught on the water once more. It wasn’t often he got to just look at the water, especially not when it was so quiet and peaceful. Sam wasn’t stupid; he knew Dean had been convinced he’d go swimming during some frat party, but he’d never actually gone through with it. The thought had crossed his mind, sure, but only for the briefest of moments. He wasn’t a strong swimmer, and the risks didn’t seem worth it. Any friends he’d get from risking his life like that weren’t going to be worth in in the long run.

That didn’t mean he didn’t go to beaches, though. There were parties nearly every weekend on them, big bonfires would be set up and coolers would be stocked with cans of cheap beer. They were fun at first, but he could never really say they were his scene, and as the semester passed on he missed more and more of the parties in favor of studying, until he only ever went when Jess pressed him into going. They always held this fearful taint to them; at least he thought they did, with teenagers getting closer and closer to the water as the night progressed. Most nights no one ever actually went in – once or twice he could recall a girl sticking her bare feet in and shrieking, running away the second she got wet. It was risky and stupid and Sam knew that Dean would have his head if he ever found out about it, but to be honest…that was part of the reason he had gone in the first place. A sort of revenge, a way to jerk his brother around and a way to prove that he didn’t have to do everything their dad said. It was rebellion, pure and simple, and once Sam realized that, well, he realized he was still letting dad control his life, so he stopped. It wasn’t as fun anymore after that.

But he still liked the water. He liked it even more now, without harsh smoke burning his lungs and screaming, drunk college students giving him a headache. It was hard to imagine such a dangerous creature could lurk under the waves, hard to imagine that at one point the water he was staring at would have been filled with people and boats, would have been busy and chaotic.

Maybe he’d be able to convince Dean to come back here, after the hunt was finished, just to look at the waves. It was peaceful. And God knows they both needed a little peace in their lives. They could bring out some beer, relax a little bit before the next hunt dragged them across the country. He doubted Dean would go for it, but it was a nice thought nonetheless. His eyes caught on something sticking out of the water, focus immediately honing in. He stepped closer, balancing near the edge of the cliff as one hand raised up to cup over his eyes.

 _Crap_. There was a person in the water, bobbing up and down and now Sam could hear that they were screaming something to someone on the coast – he looked and there, yeah, another person, except Sam was pretty sure that one looked familiar. He glared, trying to will the person to step forward a little more so he could maybe get a better look, but it stayed hidden in the shadows. After a short while he gave up and looked back at the person in the ocean, willing them to start swimming towards safety now, before they attracted attention.

He frowned as he took in the little of the person he could see – their hair, a brown-blonde mix and their tan skin and the way they were yelling, loud and swearing but not quite loud enough for Sam to make out exactly what they were saying. _Dean,_ his mind supplied, Dean who would have been in the woods, Dean who the vampire would have led to the water because that gave it a better chance of escaping than a fucking cliff. And once that though hit him, once he placed the man as his brother, it was all he could see and everything fell into place.

His stupid, _stupid_ brother had gotten screwed over by the vampire and had taken refuge in the water, the one thing that they had been trained _not to ever do_ , and how was Sam supposed to get down there before something happened? The vampire was edging closer, apparently encouraged by the fact that Dean was still alive, and pretty soon Dean was going to be trapped from both directions – he couldn’t stay in the water, not for that much longer, but by the time he swam out the vampire would be waiting for him. He didn’t stand a chance without some form of backup, and Sam was too far away to be of any use.

He felt like his heart was going to stop when he realized the shadow behind Dean was _moving_. Moving _towards_ his brother, and then a head was carefully pressing up out of the water, and Sam knew instinctively that this was a seraph, that his brother was gone. There was nothing he could do, nothing either of them could do, even if Sam was on the beach right now.

That didn’t stop him from trying, though, and sucking in a deep breath Sam started screaming, his brother’s name and a litany of other nonsensical words and shouts, mostly just harsh cries begging his brother to hurry up and get back to the shore. His hands were waving in the air, desperate to get his brothers attention, and when Dean finally did turn his face up and look at him Sam screamed all the louder. He wasn’t sure what he was trying to do at this point, alert his brother to the danger or maybe somehow scare the seraph away, but once he started screaming he felt like he couldn’t stop, and Dean only looked at him for a brief second before he turned and headed towards the shore.

After that, everything seemed to happen in slow motion. Dean started swimming forward, back towards the safety of the shore, his arm reaching up out of the water –

And that was as far as he got, before the seraph snapped into action, and now there was no doubt in Sam’s mind that that was what it was. Dark tentacles made their way out of the water, no longer hiding under the sloshing surf, all heading towards the same prone body. Dean turns around, and though it doesn’t look like any of the tentacles had gotten onto his brother yet something must have been touching his foot, something had alerted him to the presence that Sam had been screeching about, only if that was the case it was too late – once the seraph had a hold on its prey nothing would make it let go, nothing would make it stand down. If it had a hold of Dean he was minutes, maybe even seconds, away from watching his brother get torn apart, watching blood taint the blue water and segments of his body get washed up ashore. Dean’s arm falls back into the water for a moment before suddenly surging back up, and now his brother is desperately fighting, confirming Sam’s worse fears – the seraph has already gotten a hold on him. Dean screams, and Sam falls to his knees, still crying out to his brother, begging and pleading the thing to just leave him alone, Dean wasn’t a threat, he hadn’t _done anything_.

And as much as Dean struggles Sam can already see it’s for nothing; his brother isn’t making any progress, he’s wasting energy, that’s all. His arms are flailing above the water and one leg manages to kick up out of the sea, a streak of black still wrapped around it that Sam figures must be one of the things tentacles. His leg gets pulled back into the water and the tentacles finally reach their mark, twining around Dean and tugging him back, deeper into the water, towards the seraph. Dean struggles the entire way, hands moving in a flash of motion as he’s tugged close enough to start beating at the thing’s human body. He’s not screaming anymore, and Sam is selfishly grateful. Soon, once the thing starts tearing at his brother, he knows nothing will stop Dean from screaming. And he knows if he was smart, he’d walk away right now. No, he’d run away, run as fast and far as he could, run until he couldn’t hear his brother’s painful and desperate cries, because those are going to haunt him for the rest of his life and Sam doesn’t know if he can deal with that.

But his legs feel like lead, and if he gets up he might just topple over the edge and join his brother in the water. Maybe that’d be better, better than having to relive this moment every day for the rest of his life, and maybe Dean would mistake his weakness and selfishness as trying to help him. Maybe his brother would die thinking that Sam at least tried to save him. He’d never have to know the truth, never have to know about the moment of doubt and weakness that, if Sam were stronger, would have made him turn tail and run as fast as he could.

It doesn’t matter, though, because he can’t get up. He can’t even turn his head away; he’s stuck watching as Dean gets dragged closer and closer. It feels like hours have passed, though Sam knows it’s been minutes, if that, and he just wants everything to be over. He wants this to end quickly, because if there’s nothing he can do for Dean he at least doesn’t want his brother to suffer.

When the seraph starts swimming away, though, Dean clutched to its chest, he finally finds the strength to get up. What the hell? Where is it taking him? Why hadn’t it killed him already? Was it planning on taking its time, ripping Dean apart as slow as possible so it could get a show out of him, were their other seraph’s in the water and this one didn’t want to share its new human toy?

Even as that last thought is running through his mind, he’s stripping off as many layers as he dares in preparation for the no-doubt stupid move he’s about to make. He tugs off his jeans and shoes and, before he has a chance to question himself, he dives off the edge of the cliff and into the churning water below, bracing himself for the cold, unforgiving ocean. His eyes sting, but he doesn’t dare close them, he needs to see the slightly shadowy tentacles that are the only clue he has to where the seraph is. He can only hope that he’s following the right one, but it’s so far away it’s impossible to tell. He can’t see any of Dean, and when he finally comes up for air he feels like screaming. His lungs are on fire and the seraph is impossibly far away, speed increasing with every second that’s passing. He keeps swimming even as he realizes it’s futile, even as the thing finally swims far enough ahead where Sam can’t see it anymore, and he can only hope that he’s going in the right direction. The shore he’s come from is still within sight when he finally stops, his muscles aching, taking in deep lungful’s of air to soothe the burn.

Dean is gone. Wherever this thing has taken his brother, he stands no chance of finding it. At least, not like this. He’s more likely to drown or catch the attention of another seraph at this point. And he needs to be alive if he’s going to find his brother. He turns back towards the shore, movements much slower, feet barely kicking up out of the water as he makes his way back towards land and safety.

Seraphs were cruel and unforgiving. They never left their prey alive and they never willingly gave back what they’d taken – the ocean did that for them, on occasion, the bits and scraps that the seraph’s apparently didn’t want would eventually get brought in by the tide. But Sam didn’t care. He would get a boat, a plane, he’d get whatever he needed to and he’d find Dean. Dean was coming home, alive and well, because he was a hunter. And this was supposed to be a routine hunt; this wasn’t supposed to be the case where Dean died. His brother had done too much good to deserve this sort of fate. It just couldn’t happen.

He was going to get Dean back, no matter how long it took.

* * *

 

Dean wakes up sore, wet and dirty. He feels claustrophobic, like he’d been moving around all night and had gotten the covers wrapped around him way too tight, tight to the point where he has no idea how he’s ever supposed to get himself untangled. He tried to open his eyes, only to find a layer of sandy grit is plastered onto his face, sticking his eyelids together and making it painful to so much as think about flicking them open. He tries to lift his arm up, desperate to wipe away whatever bits of sleep have accumulated around his eyes, but whatever blanket he’d managed to wrap around himself last night is too tight, and his arm can barely twitch. He’s surprised he hasn’t lost feeling in the limb, though after another sleepy moment he decides not to think about that too much – it’s a good thing, he figures, and he’d hate to make it start hurting just by overthinking it.

After a few failed attempts he finally manages to force his eyelids apart, blinking rapidly after that to keep whatever filth had been keeping them shut out of his eyes. He yawns, surprisingly still tired, his muscles aching dully, like he’d pushed himself a little too hard the night before. He didn’t remember straining himself, though. He and Sam had only gone after one thing, a lone vampire, and that shouldn’t have taken such a toll on his body –

The night came back to him in a rush, the ocean, the vampire luring him on and then turning tail, Sam screaming and…and the fucking seraph, and how it had dragged him out to sea rather than just rip him apart in front of his brother, and what did that mean for him, now? Was he dead? Had it already killed him, and he just didn’t remember? Or had he passed out and it had killed him then, and he had really gotten lucky and didn’t have to feel a damn thing? The latter didn’t sound like the creatures from the stories, and the former…well, this was a sucky afterlife, Dean had to say. His muscles still ached and he wasn’t exactly comfy, hell, he couldn’t even move his damn arm, and maybe that should alarm him more than it did, but…it was dark, even with his eyes open. He could barely see anything, right in front of him it was like there was some kind of black _wall_ , though out of the corner of his eye he was pretty sure he could see some form of light creeping in.

He tilts his head towards the light, groaning as his neck protests the slight movement, spasms of pain shooting down his body, enough to make him shiver in the tight hold. He blinks, trying to clear his head, and squints against the bright beams of light. He needs to clear his thoughts. Option A – he had died, and this was the worst afterlife any religion could have possibly conceived of. He wrote that option off, if only because it sucked to think about. Option B – he’d…dreamed up everything? He was in some crappy motel or he’d hit his head and fallen asleep out in the woods, or maybe he was sleeping in the Impala and Sam hadn’t felt like trying to wake him up or hauling his ass inside, so he’d draped a blanket over him and hoped for the best? But this didn’t feel like the Impala, and if he’d hit his head that didn’t explain the dark walls or the fact that he couldn’t _move_ , and a motel room didn’t exactly explain everything away, either.

Okay. So…that left what, option c? What the hell was that? He’d been taken by the seraph, yeah, that much he figured had to be a given at this point. What had the thing done with him? Gotten bored and dropped him off somewhere? Maybe it was saving him for later, waiting until he got his strength back up so it could play with him before it ripped him apart? Or, he thought, recalling his earlier thoughts, maybe he was right and the thing had kids, and it was waiting until the little monsters were hungry so Dean could become baby food. He shuddered at the thought. Maybe Option A wasn’t so bad.

And then, as if the universe had somehow realized Dean had exhausted all possible explanations and was at a complete loss, whatever bindings had been around him (because he’d realized sometime during Option C that there was no way he’d gotten caught up in a blanket, which meant the thing was trying to keep him from pulling a disappearing act while it was off doing better things, maybe looking for more humans to kidnap and murder) started to loosen, and his limbs were free to move. Dean let out a relieved breath, rolling his shoulders back and stretching out a little before trying to move up, shoving his hands against the ground in an attempt to keep his weight steady. His muscles shrieked at the effort, and he nearly collapsed before managing to tense up and catch himself, grimacing as he continued to push himself up.

Until he felt something wrap around his wrist, something wet and slick that most certainly did not make him shriek and nearly fall back again. Not that it mattered, because the thing…the _tentacle,_ his mind taunted, wrapped around his wrist and arm and _yanked_ , pulling it out from under him so his back hit the floor again. It wasn’t hard enough to hurt, actually, it was surprisingly gentle, but the mere surprise of it was enough to have Dean grunting, bouncing a little as he fell back.

And bouncing? Yeah, okay, that was weird, that made him do a bit of a double take. Last time he checked most grounds weren’t, uh, bouncy, but then again, whatever he was laying on felt pretty comfy, if he was being honest with himself. Like a mattress, of sorts, except there were gaps were he could feel his toes dangling down, and that made him feel a little uneasy. He pushed that aside. For right now, there were bigger things that should be making him feel uneasy, like the fact that apparently the seraph was back. Or, he realized, with another wave of cold dread coursing through him, the thing had been here all night. Tentacles had been wrapped around him, binding him and keeping him from moving, and that was the darkness he had seen and the reason he felt all wet and why he couldn’t move and –

He swallowed down something that felt too thick to be saliva, willing his stomach to settle so he wouldn’t actually vomit all over himself. He’d somehow made it through the night with the thing, and maybe that meant something terrible was in store for him (like being live hunting practice for a bunch of tiny bloodthirsty seraph’s that didn’t even know how to effectively and quickly kill anything), but he sure as hell wasn’t going to go and ruin everything by going ahead and choking on his own damn vomit.

He’s pushed down hard enough to knock all the air out of his lungs, oxygen leaving him in a light hiss that grows slightly more panicked as a pair of familiar blue eyes are suddenly peering down at him, a mop of black hair and pale skin hovering over him. He tries to speak, a chocked off ‘get off me, man’ that gets caught in his throat and by the time the words actually make it out there no more than grunts, unintelligible if the way the creature cocks its head is any indication. It raises a hand and Dean flinches, fighting back the urge to withdraw before he realizes there’s literally nowhere he can withdraw _to_ , he’s at this things mercy.

The hand is cold and clammy when it touches his skin, wrinkled like he’d been in the water for too long even though it felt pretty damn dry. It runs along his face, passing over his cheek and raising up to card through his hair, nails scraping along Dean’s scalp carefully. The other hand does the same on the other side of his face, fingertips light and teasing, tickling along his skin and making Dean squirm. He makes another panicked, desperate squeaking sound when the tentacles start moving, running over his body carefully but methodically, suckers brushing over every inch of skin they can reach.

His clothing is ripped, torn to shreds if the way the suckers are clinging to his skin are any indicator. He hopes that happened now, that the tentacles exploring his body are ripping his clothing along the way, because that’s slightly more comforting than thinking that nearly all of his body has been exposed to the thing for the entire night, and Dean’s been unconscious, so who knows what the thing had been doing to him.

He feels sick, skin clammy and throat constricting so he can’t shout, even if there wasn’t a heavy weight pressing down on him. Biting his lip, he tries to focus his energy on keeping his breathing steady and his heart from jumping out of his chest. The thing is staring at him curiously, eyes roving over his body, following along the path his tentacles were weaving. As stupid as it may sound, it seems mostly harmless right now, touches light and gentle and not at all reminiscent of the harsh, vice grip Dean knew it was capable of. Maybe the thing was fighting its instincts, maybe it’d never had a human all put together for so long, and _maybe_ that meant Dean might live long enough to find a way out.

It was unlikely. Even if it didn’t kill him right now, Dean had no idea where it’d dragged him off to. And while he knew Sam had seen him, they’d made an agreement a while back that if one of them got taken by a seraph the other would let it go. There was no reason for them both to die, after all, and in reality that was all that was likely to happen. Going after a seraph was like signing a death warrant. Sam would have no way of knowing Dean was still alive, anyway, so as far as his brother was concerned Dean was as good as gone. If he was going to get out, he was going to have to do it alone, and he had the feeling he wasn’t suddenly going to get lucky and manage that.

His forced calm is ruined when a roving tentacle shoves its way into his pants, passing over his dick, running along its soft length curiously, suckers making a soft popping sound as they lift up. He feels his dick twitch in interest even as he shouts his disapproval.

“No!” Dean’s muscles tense up as he tries to shove the seraph off of him. It stares at him, curiously, cocking its head to the side, but the tentacle doesn’t move. “ _Off_ ,” Dean insists, “bad, that’s bad, don’t _touch_ that-“

He may be wasting his time. He has no idea if these things speak English, if it has any idea what Dean is telling it, but he hopes that his irritation and disapproval is clear from his tone and futile efforts at knocking the thing off of him.

Finally the seraph starts cooing at him, tutting and staring down at Dean earnestly before loosening its grip. Dean sucks in a grateful breath, relief flooding him. It only lasts a minute – as soon as he feels free the tentacles are tightening back around him, forcing him to turn over and giving the seraph access to his back. Oddly enough, that makes things _worse_ , because if there’s one thing worse than that thing getting all touchy-feely with his dick it’s it getting curious about _other_ private parts of Dean. And hey, he was no stranger to porn, and while he’d admit to watching his fair sense of weird-ass Japanese tentacle sex…well, that was _watching_ , and it had _chicks_ in it. This was a whole ‘nother ball game, and one that Dean was definitely not playing. He squirms, hands gripping at the ground beneath him –

And now, with his head pressed down like this, he can actually see what it’s made of. Some sort of vine, thick but soft. It bends a little under his weight, sinking down towards the water below, though not enough where Dean feels fearful. A few dark tentacles are churning the water – the gaps between the make-shift vine bed are big in some places, big enough for the seraph to fit its tentacles through, and they’re dangling limply down towards the ground.

“Still.” Dean freezes when he hears the command, the gruff voice that issues it lazily. Okay. So the thing can understand English, or at least a little. That could work in Dean’s favor, he figures, maybe he can talk the thing into seeing reason. If he can just get it to see he’s not a threat, he was _never_ a threat, maybe it’ll be willing to let him go and Dean can actually make it out of this hellish nightmare alive.

“Relax,” the same gruff voice commands. Dean shudders at the sound of it – the guy sounds like he barely speaks, vocal cords rough from disuse.

“Yeah, okay, hey, how ‘bout you get offa me, I’m _sorry_ , man, this is all some kinda misunderstanding-“ Dean chokes the last word out as the tentacles continue tracing along his back, feeling along the dip in his spine and ruffling his hair.

“Misunderstanding?” The creature parrots back at him. Dean fights to keep his voice even, tries to get his muscles to relax again, because maybe if can make himself seem smaller and weaker the thing will _believe_ him when he sees he’s not a threat.

“Yeah. Look, I know I was in the water, but, you gotta understand, there was a vampire and it seemed like the safer place, I wasn’t trying to mess with your territory or anything, I just didn’t want to get-“

“I know all that.” The creature responds. It sounds confused, and a sense of hopelessness raises up through Dean. If it knows, then it doesn’t care, then this isn’t about Dean being a threat. All that matters is Dean went into the water, and it was still going to kill him, no matter what he did-

He gets turned over again, the seraph’s eyes staring him down. It’s holding itself up with one arm, fingers curling around one of the vines underneath them, Dean tries to think of something, anything, he can do so that he at least goes down with a fight.

“Castiel,” the creature raises one hand up, palm hitting at its chest.

“Castiel?” Dean cocks a brow, nearly stumbling over the unfamiliar word. The seraph nods excitedly before staring down at Dean expectantly. Okay, Dean thinks, clearly he’s missed something, because he has no idea what he’s supposed to do right now. What does it want from him? The eye contact is making him uncomfortable – he wants to tear his eyes away, but escaping its gaze seems impossible, and at least this way he’ll see if it decides to try something.

Finally the seraph loses patience, huffing out a sigh as it gestures towards Dean. Dean tries and fails to stop himself from wincing, eyes fluttering shut as he tensed, expecting the thing to start hitting him. They open again when the thing lets out a panicked sound, hand gently falling forward to cup Dean’s cheek, fingers brushing along the skin in a way that screamed careful.

“What’s wrong?” It barks out, eyes narrowing as Dean resumes squirming when tentacles start to rove over his body again. Seriously?

“You’re a seraph.” Dean points out. He tries to move his arm up, planning on waving at the damn thing, as if it might have somehow _forgotten_ what it fucking was, but one hand won’t release its grip off the vines out of fear and the other is being held down by a tentacle. The seraph stares at him and nods, cocking its head. Dean figures that’s his cue to continue, except he doesn’t really know what else he’s supposed to say – what’s this thing waiting for, what’s with the hold up? It’s not like Dean wanted to die, but all the same, he’d rather not be kept here and starved or something until the thing finally decided it was time to rip him apart or eat him or whatever the fuck they did with people.

“Look,” Dean says, slowly, “if you’re gonna kill me, just-“

Dean’s cut off, a thick tentacle shoving against his mouth, slick surface brushing against his front teeth. The creatures eyes are wide, focused entirely on Dean as it shakes its head back and forth frantically, oblivious to Dean’s obvious discomfort. He tried to move his head back, and when that proved useless he tried to at least close his mouth – he was being careful, but he really didn’t want to risk his tongue brushing up against the thing. Closing his mouth would mean biting the damn thing, though, and while he knew he wouldn’t do any damage he didn’t want to piss the powerful creature off. He wanted a quick death, and something told him biting it wouldn’t get him his wish.

Although, from the looks of things, he might not get what he wanted anyway.

* * *

 

Castiel can’t help but stare helplessly at his mate. Every part of him is rubbing against him, his fingers rubbing circles into his cheeks and his tentacles running down and along his body, trying hard to soothe the man and get him to relax again.

He knew humans didn’t sense mates, but certainly the man must know that Castiel would never harm him! His terror was unwarranted, and when he mentioned _killing_ -

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Castiel insisted, “please, calm down, _relax_ ,” he tries to keep his tone soft, wincing when it still comes out rough and gravely. He had foolishly thought everything would be okay once the man woke up, but so far things seemed to have stayed consistently complicated – his mate wouldn’t even share his name, and no matter how many times Castiel ran his tentacles along him, he wouldn’t relax. Not to mention how he’d responded when Castiel inspected his penis and his back – the man had refused to stop fighting and fidgeting, making the entire ordeal so much harder than it needed to be.

Because of that, Castiel hadn’t even managed to complete his inspection – the human had been too tense, too fearful, and Castiel hated seeing him like that, so he’d forced himself to cast his instincts aside and ended his inspection early. He’d looked over enough of the man where he was fairly confident nothing was wrong, though, and he’d make sure to take his time and do a thorough check in the morning, when the man would hopefully be calmer and more understanding. It made him uneasy – it was his _job_ as the dominant to check over his mate every morning, to ensure that they were healthy and well-cared for, and to not follow through was…well, wrong. Only uncaring and unworthy dominants didn’t follow through on their duties, and Castiel was neither of those.

But he wanted his mate to like him, wanted him to willingly sit still while he checked him over, and maybe one day wouldn’t be _too_ bad – it didn’t even have to be a full day, he could check the man over later on, after he fell asleep. He’d just have to be careful. It wasn’t ideal, but it made him relax, his instincts soothed by the acquisition.

His mate started laughing, desperate airy sounds that made Castiel’s insides clench up. He wanted his mate to laugh, sure, but this didn’t sound like the noises the humans on the beach made. Those sounds were happy, carefree, they were pleasing to hear. This sounded almost painful, more like _crying_ than anything else.

“ _Relax,_ ” His mate chocks out, “got a fucking _seraph_ on me, but hey, yeah, lemme just _relax_.” Castiel frowns, thumb running over his mates lip.

“Castiel,” he repeats, insistent. He doesn’t want the man to see him as a seraph, he wants to be seen as a _mate_ , a mate with a _name_. “And I told you, I’m not going to hurt you. You’re safe here.”

“Right, I forgot, seraph’s and safety go hand in hand. Silly me,” the man lets out another laugh, still sounding tight and chocked. “And what the hell does Castiel mean?” He adds on, seemingly as an afterthought.

“It’s my name.” Castiel sighs, still stroking along his mates tense body. The man’s unease was justifiable, as much as Castiel hated to admit it. “And when it comes to me, you _are_ safe. I won’t hurt you.”

“Yeah? So, what, then, what’s the catch? You got a bunch of kids who need to take ‘Killing Humans 101?’

“I don’t have children.”

His mate stares at him for a long moment, waiting expectantly, but Castiel doesn’t know what else remains to be said. He doesn’t have a mate yet – of course he hasn’t had children. He’s not sure they’ll be able to have them. It wasn’t often male dominant seraphs took on male human mates. He wasn’t capable of carrying the children, and he wasn’t sure if his mate was either. Was that going to be a problem? Did his mate want children? What if he did, what if Castiel couldn’t provide him with something he wanted, would that make his mate reject him?

They’d get children, then. He’d figure it out, somehow, if his mate wanted children then they were going to have children-

His breath catches when his mate suddenly squeezes his eyes shut and starts _laughing_ , soft chuckles that slowly build up until his body is quivering. It’s not the full bodied laugh that he’d heard from the humans on the beach, but it’s still much nicer and pleasing to hear that the desperate sounds he’d been making earlier. He’s not sure what he’s done to earn those sounds, but he wants to hear more of them, wants them to be stronger. He likes the way his mates face scrunches up when he laughs, the way his eyes crinkle around the edge and his lips curve up to show a hint of white teeth. His head is tilting back, as much as he can with the way Castiel is holding him, stretching and showing off his neck. Castiel wants to bite it, wants to mark it up with a mating bite, one of many steps to show that this man, the man whose name he still doesn’t know but that doesn’t matter, because Castiel is already hopelessly infatuated with him.

“’Course you don’t.” His mate’s arm seems to spasm, relaxing after a moment, and it isn’t until he starts speaking again that Castiel realizes he’d intended to raise it up, for whatever reason. He thinks about loosening his hold and letting him, but he’s not certain he trusts his mate not to do something reckless quite yet, and considering he hasn’t had a chance to fully inspect the man – no, he’s probably not letting the human out of the nest for the day. He’ll leave, of course, and get them some food, but he’d rather the human not risk injury. Castiel will show him around the area later, show him the areas he’s allowed to go to (the areas that Castiel can access, because his mate is not wandering around unsupervised) and the areas he’ll always be pulled away from (the areas that are either too far from the water or too difficult for Castiel to maneuver on, mostly in the center of the island). “Alright then, Cas, I’ll bite. Watcha got me here for, then, if it’s _not_ to hurt me?”

Castiel can’t help but smile down. He’s making progress, he can tell, his mate has already nicknamed him. seraphs only used their full names – except for family, and mates. “What’s your name?” He asks, hand moving off of his mate’s cheek to brush along his hair, fingernails scraping along the short locks.

His mate stares at him for a moment, speculating, teeth nibbling at his lower lip. Castiel has to fight against the urge to push his finger in its place, saving the flushed flesh from further torture. He could handle being nibbled at – his mates skin was sensitive, though, and was responding to the slight pressure already being inflicted upon it. He withholds, though, and his patience is rewarded when the teeth stop biting, “Dean. Dean Winchester.”

He wants to scream again, wants to rejoice and shout his happiness to everything near enough to hear him, and all because of something as simple as a name. His elation must show on his face, because Dean – _Dean_ , he has a _name_ he can use now, and if that isn’t one of the greatest things, Castiel doesn’t know what it – is staring up at him worriedly, green eyes confused.

“ _Dean_ ,” Castiel says, the name rolling off his tongue (he wants to say it more, wants to say it forever, keep saying it and revealing in the way it sounds and feels, so natural and perfect and wonderful) “Dean.”

Dean cocks a brow at him, mirth taking over the confusion. “Yeah, glad we got that cleared up. You gonna answer my question, now, or…?”

Castiel nods his head. Of course he’ll answer, this won’t be anywhere near as hard as his family had suggested – perhaps they had just gotten unlucky. His mate, his _Dean_ , will understand, undoubtedly, once Castiel starts to explain things to him. Everything will be easy from here on out. “Dean,” he says, one more time, because now that he’s started he really feels as though he cannot stop, “ _mate_ ,” he tries, instead, testing the word to see Dean’s reaction. The man’s eyebrows shoot up, eyes going impossibly wide, but he doesn’t say anything and Castiel takes that as invitation to continue, “we’re mates. I found you, and you’re _mine_ , you were made for me. You’re here so I can take care of you, so we can nest together. You’re my mate.”

* * *

He never should have gone into the water. _Holy shit_ , how did this stuff wind up happening to _him_ of all people? He was a decent person! He’d done his share of shit, sure, but he’d done good things to. He _saved_ people, for Christ’s sake, what did he do to deserve _this_?

The seraph – Castiel, he reminded himself, because apparently the thing thought they were on first name basis – was staring down at him earnestly, blue eyes wide and focused way too intently on Dean, roving over his face like he was trying to memorize him. It was uncomfortable and creepy as hell.

 _Mates_? The _fuck_? He wanted to say something, anything, but his entire body has seized up and frozen the second Castiel had said that one stupid word. Maybe it meant something different to seraphs, but Dean had the feeling that was a foolish hope – especially when the fucker plowed right past that stupid word and decided to continue with how Dean was apparently _made for it_ and how they were going to _nest together_ and –

Okay. Breathe, he reminded himself. Don’t panic. Don’t hyperventilate. Now is not the time for a panic attack. He was apparently the crazy killer monsters type, so what? The thing was probably just confused, that’s all, and hey, once Dean got it to really think things over maybe it’d realize how stupid this all way and they’d laugh it off and Dean would be able to go home, limbs intact, with a fucking crazy story that no one would ever believe even if he _did_ ever want to tell it. Which he didn’t, because he still had his pride and his manhood and he’d never hear the end of it if he told Sam that a tentacle monster wanted to _nest_ with him.

The thin- _Castiel_ was still staring at him, though, and while Dean knew it was probably waiting for a response, he couldn’t figure out how to get his vocal cords to actually work. Especially when tentacles were still roaming over his body and it was that much creepier when he took into consideration the things actually intentions. Confused. Right, yeah. That’s all this was. A confused monster. It was all alone, maybe the other seraph had abandoned it when humans stopped going in the water, and now it didn’t know what the fuck it was supposed to do. Castiel hummed at him, a low almost growl that made Dean shiver out of what he hoped was fear. Okay, wait. That was definitely a _male_ sounding growl. And if Castiel was male, then-

Hold the fuck up. Did it think Dean was a _chick_? Maybe if he just –

“You’re a dude.” He squeaked out. It didn’t sound as gruff as his voice normally did, and while Dean cursed that he was also pretty confident his tone was naturally low enough where no one could confuse him as being anything other than a guy. Castiel seemed even more confused now, eyebrows knitted together, but his eyes still didn’t leave Dean’s face.

“I am.”

“…So am I?” Dean said, hating the fact that he even needed to explain this. He tried to remind himself that there was no real reason for him to be insulted - Castiel wasn’t _human_ , he probably didn’t know what made humans different-

“I’m aware. Is that important?” And _fuck_ , okay, maybe seraphs weren’t as intelligent as humans thought they were. Maybe they just relied on brute strength, and all those stories from the past had been heavily embellished to make people feel better for losing the war to them.

“Uh,” Dean said, lamely, “Kinda? Dudes, uh, dudes don’t _mate_ , man, you need a girl if you’re gonna do that sort of-“

“Male mating’s are not unheard of among my kind, nor are they amongst yours.” Castiel cut him off. His eyes were narrowing, slits of blue glaring down at Dean, giving him the distinct feeling he’d somehow managed to do something wrong, but considering he couldn’t figure out what the hell it was he decided to just keep going.

“Well, yeah, okay, some humans do that. But not all of us.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I’m…not into guys? I like girls.” _Human_ girls, he wanted to add, with breasts and vaginas and without fucking tentacles, but he figured that would be getting way too detailed. All Castiel really needed to know was that whatever gay fantasy he had going on, he was going to have to figure it out with some other guy. Hopefully one from his own damn species, although Dean wasn’t going to get his hopes up for that. He just wanted out of here – if some other stupid bastard decided to go swimming in the ocean, they could deal with this.

Castiel recoiled like he’d been slapped, back arching away from Dean even though his tentacles remained looped around the humans body. His eyes had widened, briefly, before quickly narrowing back into slits, staring Dean down. Dean squirmed under the intense gaze, tempted to break and say ‘just kidding’ because the seraph looked pretty pissed, and maybe telling him that they weren’t mates was actually a good way to get himself killed, but there wasn’t really much of an alternative, was there?

“You want a courtship.” Castiel said, voice gruff and deadpan, and even though it was phrased as a question it sounded pretty matter of fact to Dean. He shook his head rapidly, though he had the feeling it was a moment too late, and when he started speaking, desperate to deny whatever the fuck Castiel had going through his mind, his voice was squeaky and high pitched again.

“What?! No, no, that’s not – I’m _not into guys_ , we aren’t _mates_ or whatever, just let me go-“

“You’re _denying_ me?” Castiel hissed out, face surging back down until they were inches apart, until Dean could feel every breath Castiel breathed out, warm breath fanning over his lips.

“Yes?” Dean said, tentatively, after a brief moment of hesitation. Was that the right answer? It was the answer he wanted to give, but it seemed to only make Castiel angrier, and he had the feeling he’d really screwed up somewhere, but seriously, how was any of this his fault? It’s not his fault the fucking monster had decided that all humans were gay and apparently thought he could just _grab_ one of them and that would be that!

“ _No_.” Castiel grounded out, “We _are_ mates. I will court you.”

“That’s not nec-“ Dean tried, wincing when a tentacle shoved against his lips again, Castiel still glaring down at him.

“Of course it is. It is what you want, and it is what I will do.”

Dean can’t respond, doesn’t dare to, because he knows if he opens his mouth up his lips are going to drag against slick tentacle and he doesn’t really trust that Castiel won’t try and slip the fucking thing in his mouth so he can feel around in there, too, because apparently part of his life goal was to run his tentacles over every fucking part of Dean he could (and he _really_ didn’t want to think about that, not right now, now with this new information in his mind, because there are definitely places he does _not_ want those damn tentacles going anywhere near). Luckily he doesn’t have to worry about that for too long, because all of a sudden Castiel is untangling himself from Dean and moving off of him, body slithering down until he’s half submerged in the water. Dean slides up, stretching his limbs out for the first time in what feels like ages, tensing again when one of Castiel’s tentacles suddenly snaps out and wraps back around Dean’s ankle, gripping tight.

“Stay.” Castiel commands. “Do not leave this nest.”

Dean opens his mouth to complain – no way is he taking commands from a seraph, especially not if the thing was leaving – he was getting his first chance at escaping, and he sure as hell was going to take it, but Castiel is sinking down in the water and swimming away before he gets a chance. And, hey, that works for Dean – he didn’t agree to anything, and it’s not like Castiel really told him where the nest ended – it could be this weird bed thing, sure, or it could be outside of the cave, whatever that is. How is Dean supposed to know? So if he wanders off, well, he thought he was just exploring Castiel’s nest, and what’s the harm in that?

But first, his muscles feel like he’s just run a marathon while carrying Sam on his back. He tries to stretch out on the bed, idea quickly abandoned when it starts to sway with every move he makes. His ripped clothes are still wet, either from the water or from Castiel’s wet tentacles clinging and exploring, he doesn’t really want to know which. But, regardless, they’re at least starting to dry, and he really doesn’t want to erase the little progress he’s made by accidentally tumbling into the water. Besides, he doesn’t know how great Castiel’s hearing is, and what if the seraph hears him fall and comes to investigate? Dean has no idea what ‘courtship’ means, but he’s hoping he won’t be around to find out – hopefully Castiel will stay gone for a while, long enough for Dean to get out of this cave and back to civilization.

He manages to slowly crawl off of the bed, relief flooding him when he finally tumbles off and onto the solid rock flooring. It hurts like a bitch and his knees protest the hard landing, but it’s stable, solid ground and he hasn’t felt that in what feels like far too long. His stomach rolls, reminding him that’s he’s both hungry and a little seasick, the rocking of the bed enough to make him feel unsettled, but he pushes all that to the side. Civilization first, food and maybe vomiting if he’s that unlucky later. The cave ceiling is high, giving him the chance to finally stretch out, arms rising up over his head and legs taking a turn to curl up towards his back, bending and stretching as much as he can before he feels too sick, like he’s about to topple over. Falling face first on the rocks seems much worse than tumbling into the water, and he’s not sure he’d be able to catch himself in time, especially if he passes out.

He doesn’t bother with looking around the cave, eyes glancing around just long enough to find the opening. It doesn’t matter, really, what it looks like. He’s not planning on spending all that much time here, and if he spends too long looking around he risks Castiel coming back before he even has a chance to see about escaping.

Part of him feels guilty – Castiel seems kinda screwed in the head, like he’d been left alone for way too long, and he really seemed to think Dean was supposed to be his mate. And even though Dean knew that was a load of bull…Castiel believed it, and he’d undoubtedly be upset when he got back and found out Dean had left. And he was probably dooming this area – judging from the amounts of beer cans and litter on the beach, lots of people frequented it, probably doing stupid dares and stunts. When Dean left Castiel would probably go back to the shoreline, either to look for him or to find a new ‘mate’ – either way, anyone on the beach would be easy to take, and eventually Castiel would either find someone that couldn’t get away in time or figure out that he should stop leaving his human toys alone.

He was a hunter. He was supposed to save people, and here he was dooming whoever stepped foot on that beach to a run-in with a seraph – but, really, what was he supposed to do? He sure as hell wasn’t going to stay here, and it wasn’t like he and Sam could take down a fucking seraph. And if people were stupid enough to go partying on the beach….they were pretty much asking for something like this to happen, weren’t they? These were one of the few nightmarish monsters that everyone knew about, and yet rather than be afraid and take precaution people seemed to like teasing them and _trying_ to get attacked. It made Dean wonder what would happen if they ever found out about all the other supernatural creatures that were out there.

It doesn’t matter, though. It’s out of his hands, really. And it wasn’t even part of his job, he’d signed up to take care of a vampire and that was what he was going to do. He made his way towards the mouth of the cave, one hand dragging along the damp cave wall for support. The air got warmer the closer to the entrance he got, thick with heat and humidity, making Dean want nothing more than to turn around and go back to the cool sanctuary of the cave. He didn’t remember the beach being this warm, but then again, they’d been on it at night. It was probably daylight by now, and the temperature had risen accordingly. He wondered, absentmindedly, where Castiel had taken him. Sam had been on the cliff edge, before, and it was likely that there was some kind of a cave carved into the area, which meant that with a short swim and some desperate running Dean would be in the clear. He just had to hope Castiel didn’t hear him entering the water, and he should be fine.

He shields his eyes as he finally gets to the entrance, muscles sore and weak and slow, already protesting the little movement he’s made. Being fast is going to be a problem, but hopefully he can talk his body into cooperating – survival is supposed to make you capable of all sorts of things, right? He curls his toes – at some point, his shoes and socks had gone missing, but right now he guesses he doesn’t need them – against the warm stone knowing that once he starts stepping further out it’ll go from pleasantly warm stone to scorching hot sand. The sun is painfully bright, beating on his skin and quickly warming him up from the cool climate of the cave, and it takes a minute and a few harsh blinks before he can actually see anything around him.

And _shit_. _Fucking shit_. He steps out, abandoning the slight shade of the cave, feet sloshing in shallow water, in favor of spinning around, taking in everything around him and hoping that maybe his first impression was wrong, and he really was on some kind of cave connected to the cliff, because that was escapable. But this…this wasn’t.

This was a fucking _island_ , sand surrounded by water with no other land as far as Dean can see. He’s no idea where he is, but it’s sure as hell not the mainland, he can’t even _see_ the mainland. He looks behind him, at the entrance of the cave, deep in a rocky cliffside. It was just like what he wanted, a cave in a cliff, but this is the _wrong_ cliff. To the left and right the shallow water eventually gives way to sand, which rises up to slightly green grass and what is definitely an island, a collection of trees in the center that looks pretty deep. It could be a continent, he knows, he can’t definitely say it’s an island until he goes through the trees and sees what’s on the other side.

But, somehow, Dean already knows what he’ll find. More sand. Sand that will give way to water. Water that will stretch out as far as he can see, with no hint of other land or civilization as far as his eyes can see. Maybe Castiel _had_ thought this out, maybe Dean wasn’t the first human he’d decided to try and take as a companion, and he’d decided that keeping them on an island was the best way to make sure that they couldn’t run away from him. It was effective, Dean had to say – he couldn’t swim that far, however far it even was, he’d either drown or Castiel would track him down. And what other option was there, really? He had the distinct feeling that whatever this island was, it had been uninhabited for a damn long time. The trees didn’t leave an opening for any sort of plane or helicopter, and unless there was some serious open land on the other side, that meant that no one had been here in a damn long time. And no one was coming, either, because there was no way to get here except by boat, and no one was going to take a boat out on the open water. Especially not to find a hunter that his brother wouldn’t even be able to admit was missing, because according to the FBI they were _dead already_.

Great. Okay. So. Shit. What option did that leave him, exactly? He wasn’t going to go back in that cave and just wait for Castiel to come back, roll over and let the damn seraph do whatever it was he wanted. Dean was human, and a male, and they were definitely not mates. They weren’t even compatible. They had nothing in common, they were different fucking species, whatever Castiel wanted Dean was definitely not it.

He carefully makes his way out of the water and onto the sand, kicking at the hot ground and hissing in pain as the burning hot sand singes the bottoms of his feet. It’s painful, makes him want to dart back into the soothingly cool water, but he doesn’t want to risk Castiel hearing him and coming back. He’s going to milk this alone time for all he can, try to figure out if there’s some way out that he just hasn’t figured out yet. He steps towards the grass, sighing in relief when that proves much cooler than the sand, toes curling in the short strands. The trees aren’t as deep as he’d thought, from where he’s standing he can almost see to where the brunch breaks back up, and just as he feared it’s a shitton of sand and what looks like ocean blue water. There’s a pool of water off to the side, looking clear except for a few leaves scattered on top. He steps toward it, throat parched and aching, and hopes for the best as he scoops some of the water into his hands and draws it up to his lips. It’s not saltwater, which he’s thankful for – at least he won’t dehydrate on this stupid island, though he has no idea how safe it is to drink this stuff anyway. For all he knows he’s gonna wind up with some infection or some shit, but without something to hold the water it’s not worth thinking about.

He hears something in the water behind him, and before he knows what he’s doing he’s running towards the center of the trees, towards one whose branch is far down enough where he can stretch up and grab onto it, pulling himself up and climbing as high as he dares. He crawls towards the center of the tree, hiding amongst the branches and leaves. He can see, barely, the water and some of the sand, right where he’d been standing, his own footprints trailing up towards the grass.

He doesn’t know why he’s hiding, exactly, except maybe Castiel has come back. And all he can think is getting away, even though that’s not possible right now, but maybe if he hides Castiel will go away again and he can buy himself some more time to think. In reality it’s a shitty plan, because Castiel is probably going to be the only way off the island, and if he leaves Dean is going to be stuck here, possibly forever. But by the point he realizes that, Castiel is already popping up out of the water, dragging his body through the shallow pool at the entrance of the cave and heading inside. He gnaws on his lower lip, knowing it’s only a matter of time before Castiel realizes Dean disobeyed him and left. He could climb down now, head in there himself and cut this off right now, play that it was a misunderstanding and try and convince Castiel to take him back again.

He doesn’t. He has the feeling getting Castiel to take him back won’t be that easy – the damn thing had dragged him to its own personal island, for crying out loud. Staying up in the tree is the only form of rebellion he has right now, and it seems like the only thing he can do. So he sits, fingers tracing along the peeling branch before he lets them curl around it, keeping himself balanced. It would really suck if he fell from here, more so than it would have had he fallen in the cave, and the heat is already making him feel a little lightheaded. He still has his suit pants, jacket and dress shirt on, and he kinda wishes he’d thought to shed a few layers before he left the cave, because now he’s sweaty and the layers feel like a thick blanket tied around his body. It’s too late now, though, he can’t toss the layers away without either making a crap ton of noise or tossing them to the ground and pretty much announcing where he’s hiding. He’ll just have to deal and hope he doesn’t pass out from the heat.

He knows the exact moment Castiel realizes he’s gone. An ungodly loud screech fills the air, sending a few birds that had settled in the trees around Dean up into the air. Dean nearly falls off his own branch, hands quickly coming up to cover his ears, his head ringing from the terrifying sound. A second later Castiel is surging out of the cave, still screeching, moving in a flurry of movement, taking in the area around him. He won’t stop screaming, and Dean is pretty sure that he can hear his name in a couple of the calls, plaintive and desperate, closer to sadness and fear than to the anger he’d been expecting, but that sure as hell isn’t enough of a comfort to get him to come down.

“Dean! _Dean_!” Castiel screams, clearer now, to the point where Dean can definitely tell that the seraph is calling his name. Guilt rises back up in him – Castiel looks absolutely distraught, shoving himself out of the water and slithering around the sand, head turning as he tries to find the missing human. He’s practically sobbing, cries getting interrupted by a few heavy breaths that Dean definitely doesn’t want to call sobs, even though they totally sound like them.

It takes a little while for Castiel to find Dean’s footprints – he nearly ruins them with how his tentacles fan out to push him across the sand, and Dean has to wonder whether being out of the water like that is painful for him. He knows the seraph was out when he woke up in the morning, but he’d also still had a couple of tentacles in the water, and the cave was much cooler and damper. If Castiel is in pain, he doesn’t show it, too busy gasping over the footprints, following them desperately to where they end, right where the grass starts.

“Dean!” Castiel calls again, “Mate! Where are you? Come back, Dean!”

Dean bits down harder on his lip to keep from responding. At this point, he feels like taking so much as a deep breath could result in Castiel hearing him. It wouldn’t really matter, though, would it? Could seraph’s climb trees? Probably not. Castiel would be left sitting there until he eventually had to go back in the water, and then Dean could get down for a bit and hope that he could climb back up before Castiel got out again. It wasn’t ideal, and really…what did it offer him, anyway? He needed food, which he couldn’t get up in a tree unless he started eating leaves. And it was hot, he’d wind up passing out and falling down eventually. And besides that, there was nowhere for him to go. For all of Castiel’s yelling, surely he had to see that? There was literally nowhere for Dean to run to, nowhere for him to come back from.

His foot is dangling out a little far, and as Castiel peers up at the trees, eyes narrowed into a glare as he tries to search Dean out, he gets nervous. What if Castiel sees his foot? Hiding may not really do anything for him, but he doesn’t want to be found until he’s good and ready. Carefully, he tries to drag his foot back in towards him, wincing when it snags along a twig coming off of his branch, snapping it and sending it to the ground.

Castiel is under the tree in an instant. Dean’s almost impressed with how fast he can move when motivated, much quicker than the flailing around he’d seen when Castiel had first climbed onto land. He’s sitting under Dean’s tree, now, staring up at it, eyes raking over each branch until he eventually finds the one Dean is hiding on. While he’d been hidden pretty well from where Castiel had been, here the branches and leaves fanned out enough where Dean knew he was visible, especially to someone actively looking for him.

“Dean!” Castiel calls, eyes locked on him. His tentacles reach up, dragging against the bark of the tree and snagging on a few lower limbed branches, curling around them like he was considering trying to tug his way up to the human. They’re too short to actually reach Dean, luckily, he hadn’t been so sure on that when he first climbed up, but that’s not much of a comfort right now. “Come down!”

Dean wiggled back, getting closer to the trunk of the tree, where the branch is bigger and he’s a little less likely to fall into Castiel’s waiting tentacles.

“Dean!” Castiel screeches again when he sees what the human’s doing, and now he’s actively trying to lift himself off of the ground and into the tree. Dean hasn’t thought this far ahead – what is he going to do if Castiel can climb trees, if he gets far enough where he can snag a couple of tentacles around him and force him out of the tree? That sure as hell wouldn’t end well for him, would it? Castiel didn’t seem pissed right now, but he had the feeling if he had to actually drag Dean out of the tree that might change – maybe coming down willingly would be the better choice?

“Stop!” Dean tries, scooting out a little closer to Castiel in an attempt to calm him down. Castiel seems suitably soothed, though it only lasts for a few seconds – once he realizes Dean isn’t coming any further, he starts crying and moving up again. “Dude, hey, _stop!”_

 _“_ Come down!” Castiel complains, voice strained. Dean huffs out a sigh.

“You gonna kill me if I do?” Dean asks, toes dangling off the edge of the branch. Climbing up the tree had seemed pretty easy – adrenaline will do that, he guesses, but looking down now is actually pretty unsettling, and it reminds Dean of how he doesn’t really like heights at all. One wrong move or a too weak branch and he’s going to go tumbling down.

“No!” Castiel screeches, voice cracking, “ _no!_ Mate! We’re _mates_ , mates don’t kill-“

“Alright!” Dean cuts off, “alright! I get it, yeah, not gonna die, that’s…” A relief, he guesses, but he doesn’t bother to finish the sentence. He believes Castiel completely, though he hates to admit it. The thought that the thing might be playing him had all but disappeared once he heard it screaming for him. Nothing would get that upset over a toy they planned on murdering, especially not one that was so easily replaceable. “Just, get down. Can’t climb down when you’re there.”

Castiel stares at him, and Dean knows the seraph is trying to figure out if he should believe him or not. He must see something that convinces him, because with a quiet whine he’s finally climbing down, suckers popping against the bark. He thuds against the ground, tentacles still waving in the air as he stares up at Dean. “Dean. Come down now.”

Dean rolls his eyes, but turns and starts to make his way down anyway. Castiel’s tentacles have made the branches a little wet, and it makes Dean’s slow progress even slower, too afraid that he’s going to lose his footing.

As it turns out, he doesn’t really have to worry about that. The second his foot touches a branch low enough, Castiel has a tentacle wrapped around him, tugging hard. “Shit, man, hold up, you’re gonna make me fall-“ Dean grips the branch he’s holding tighter, trying to keep himself from tumbling backwards, but Castiel is insistent, another tentacle wrapping around and up his leg, gripping tight and pulling hard, overpowering Dean. He falls back with a shout, expecting to feel the air wish around him before his head hits the hard ground-

Only, he barely makes it off the branch before more tentacles have reached up, wrapping around Dean and holding him steady in the air before carefully bringing him down, forcing him to lay against the ground while Castiel crawls on top of him, disapproval marring his features as he stares Dean down.

Castiel coos at him, hands framing Dean’s face as he leans in closer, and for a second Dean thinks he’s about to get kissed, but at the last second Castiel’s head turns, shoving against Dean’s neck. He presses his face into the tender skin, letting out short, desperate breaths, and all Dean can think is that the thing sounds like it’s _crying_.

“Don’t _do_ that,” Castiel hisses out, voice breaking, “ _ever_ again. You _do not_ leave the beach, you _do not_ go where I can’t reach you.” Dean knows Castiel is trying to be commanding, but his voice is too quiet and filled with fear for it to come off as anything other than desperate. He reaches a hand up, surprised when the tentacle around it lets him move, and runs his fingers through Castiel’s messy black hair, carding his hand through the wet locks.

“Okay, hey, I’m sorry,” Dean tries, tilting his head down to whisper the words near Castiel’s ear. He doesn’t know what he’s apologizing for, not really. For scaring Castiel? For making him panic? He had meant to do those things, he just hadn’t expected the response to be so strong, and maybe that was what he was sorry for, for hurting Castiel like he so obviously had. The thing was damaged; he’d already figured that out. Making it panic and cry wasn’t the way to get him to realize he was wrong, wasn’t the way to get him to let Dean go home. It was mean, like kicking a puppy or stealing from a little kid.

Castiel didn’t know better. He didn’t know what he was doing was wrong. Dean didn’t know how he knew that, but it just seemed so obvious – maybe this was what mates actually did, in Castiel’s species. He didn’t know humans didn’t, didn’t know that humans weren’t even viable mates. It was wrong of Dean to scare and belittle him over something the seraph didn’t even understand. He’d figure out a way to explain things to Castiel, a way that the seraph would understand, and then he’d go home.

He’d get Castiel to see he needed to go find more of his own kind. Maybe then this could end well for everyone involved.

* * *

 

Castiel tightened his grip around Dean, clinging to him desperately as he breathed in the calming scent of his mate.

He thought he was going to die when he realized Dean wasn’t in the nest anymore. He’d only left to get food; he hadn’t even been gone very long! His mate was hungry, he had to be, and providing him with food would help to prove that Castiel was a good mate, able to take care of him and provide for him. It would go wonders in helping him with his courtship. But then he’d gotten back, and the nest was so quiet, and Dean had _left_.

There weren’t many places for him to go, and Castiel had been so attentive, listening to every sound in the water to make sure nothing approached their nest. Certainly he would have heard if Dean had started trying to swim, right? But that made things worse, because there were places on the island Castiel didn’t have easy access to, and if Dean was there then Castiel wouldn’t be able to protect him!

It had been terrifying, and he would have to have a long talk with his mate about the places he was absolutely not allowed to go near, and how climbing trees was _not okay_ because Castiel couldn’t really climb trees, and if something happened to Dean while he was up there, Castiel would be useless. Dean’s place was with Castiel. He shouldn’t go anywhere where the seraph couldn’t follow.

It was over now, though. Now Dean was safe, held tight, now he didn’t have to worry about the man falling or getting hurt or any number of other terrible things that he knew could so easily happen to humans. They were so _breakable_ , so easily destroyed, one act of carelessness and he could be _gone_.

Castiel wouldn’t let that happen. He’d figure out some way to secure Dean, so that next time he left the man wouldn’t leave their nest. Keep him secured; at least until Castiel could trust that he wouldn’t go wandering off again. It wasn’t ideal, but it was the best he could come up with, the safest solution for his mate.

Dragging Dean back to their nest was harder than he thought it would be. He needed more of his tentacles to move along the rough terrain of the center of the island, which meant he couldn’t wrap Dean up and carry him along like he so desperately wanted to do. And he couldn’t just drag the man – the ground was uneven, rocky and bumpy and unpleasant for Castiel’s tentacles, let alone for human flesh. Instead, he’d had to begrudgingly allow Dean to stand up, tentacles gripping loosely around his wrists and ankles, keeping a hold on him while Castiel made his way across the sand. Dean followed, trailing a little bit behind, letting Castiel lead him towards the water.

Until he stopped, suddenly, nearly tripping from the force of Castiel still trying to pull him along. Why was he stopping? They weren’t in the water yet. He needed to be back in the nest, eating and getting it to smell like him and spending time with Castiel. They weren’t supposed to be stopping.

“So, what, you can just...crawl out of the water, whenever you feel like it?” Dean asked, staring down at him. He was shifting from foot to foot, the hot sand obviously uncomfortable – obvious because it was burning Castiel’s tentacles, painfully hot, so he could only imagine it was the same for the human.

“For a short while, yes.” Castiel responded, “I’ll dry out if I stay out for too long, but I’m by no means limited to swimming.”

“Right. I mean, I guess that’s kinda obvious, not really what I meant to ask.”

“Then what did you mean?”

“Does it…hurt?” Dean looked uncomfortable, now, one hand rising up and scratching at the back of his head, staring down bashfully. “The sand, anyway? It’s hot and dry; I can’t imagine that’s pleasant for you?”

“It’s not.” Castiel agreed, trying to tug the human forward again, “it’s better in the shade, or closer to the water. Here it is quite painful, you’re right.”

“You don’t look like you’re in pain.” Dean pointed out, waving a hand towards Castiel.

“No?” Should he look like he was in pain? He was the dominant. He wasn’t supposed to show any sign of weakness to his mate, not before the courtship had been completed and the mating was official. He was supposed to be strong, supposed to show how he was a great mate, and that didn’t come from being weak when it came to crawling around on a beach.

Dean sighed. “You’re…you’re like a beached whale, dude. Why are you up here, if it’s painful and gonna wind up killing you eventually?”

“You were up here,” Castiel said.

“Yeah, but really? We’re on an island, man. It’s not like I could go anywhere. I would have had to have come down eventually.”

“You could have gotten hurt.” Castiel argued back.

“So, what, I could have gotten hurt so you _definitely_ had to get hurt?”

“It’s my job to keep you-“

Dean cut him off with a desperate sounding grunt, waving his hand in the air to silence Castiel. “Stop! Just, seriously. Stop. Okay. Sure. But, you can’t just…crawl around here, yeah? Not if it’s hurting you.”

“I can’t leave you.” Castiel shook his head, “if you are out of the water, I must be out of the water.”

“Seriously?” Dean snorted, “dude, following me around all the time is gonna get boring fast.”

Castiel shifted. The pain was getting harder to ignore, the sand drying out him out faster than he normally would. He yearned for the relief the ocean would provide, but Dean was steadfast in his refusal to move and Castiel didn’t want to hurt him by forcing him to move. “It won’t.” He assured the man.

“Right,” Dean rolled his eyes. “Sure it won’t. Look, none of my business, I guess, but getting out of the water and hurting yourself? Not cool, man. You can’t do that.”

“But-“

“I get it, man, stop. You won’t let me out of your sight, or whatever, for right now anyway.” _Not right now_ , Castiel wanted to argue _, forever._ “But, look – what if I stay near the water, yeah? Then will you stay in the ocean?”

Castiel stared. A compromise? His mate was trying to keep him from hurting himself, while adhering to mating customs. That…was a good sigh, right? That meant Dean cared about him, cared about his wellbeing? Were the submissives _supposed_ to care like that, were they supposed to know that the dominants needed to take care of themselves? He’d never thought about it before. It was nice, though. He liked it. Liked knowing that Dean would care for him the same way Castiel cared for the human. It was oddly comforting.

“I suppose that would be acceptable,” he said, finally, “as long as you stayed within reach.”

Dean laughed but nodded his head, “sure, yeah. No straying, sounds good. Not like there’s anywhere to go to, anyway.” He sighed, and Castiel started tugging again.

“Water, Dean.” He tried to sound nonchalant, tried not to let the human see how quickly the sand was drying him out, but judging from the concern lacing Dean’s eyes, he had failed.

“Shit, right, sorry man.” His mate apologized, taking a few steps forward before stopping again. Castiel nearly groaned in frustration – they were never going to get back in the water at this rate.

“Hey, wait,” Dean said, bending down, knees pressing into the sand beside Castiel. He stared at Castiel speculatively, before nodding his head, seeming to come to some sort of internal decision. “Come here.”

Castiel cocked his head, and Dean smiled at him, gesturing towards him with his hands.

“Seriously, dude, come here.”

“Why?” Castiel asked, curiosity filling him even as he started to edge closer to the human. He let out a soft, shocked screech when Dean’s arms wrapped around him, carefully dragging him closer before pushing him towards the human’s chest, lifting him up as Dean stood.

“What are you doing?” Castiel squeaked, tentacles quickly wrapping around the human’s waist to keep from falling. Dean grinned down at him, grunting as he adjusted Castiel in his arms, feet shifting as he sought for balance.

“You said the sand burns you, right?” He asked. Castiel nodded, carefully, before resting his head on Dean’s shoulder. Being out of the water has left him feeling tired, lethargic. “So, it’s kinda completely my fault you’re out here to begin with. Figure, least I can do is carry you back to the water.”

And oh, that’s nice. That’s really nice. He squirms a little, trying to get himself more comfortable and in a better position for Dean to carry, enjoying the feeling of Dean’s arms wrapped around him, a steady pressure along his back and sides. He likes being this close to his mate, likes being able to press his head against Dean’s chest and hear his heartbeat, a constant reminder that his mate is alive and with him after all this time, after having a near panic attack and almost losing him. It’s exactly what he needed, and he has no idea how Dean managed to figure that out, but it just serves as further proof that they are most definitely mates. How else would Dean so naturally know what sort of comfort Castiel needed, why else would he care about the burning hot sand scorching him?

The pace was slow, Dean wobbling a little as he tried to get used to the extra weight, but it felt a lot better than crawling around on his own, and eventually they made it into the cool water. Castiel loosened his hold, but kept his tentacles wrapped around his mate – now that they were in the water, he could move Dean around a lot easier. To his surprise, the human didn’t let go of him until the water was nearly up to his shoulders, nearly all of Castiel’s tentacles submerged in the cool relief.

“Dean!” he chirped, “nest!” He squirmed, trying to convince Dean to let go of him without force, but Dean just shook his head.

“Shouldn’t you stay in the water?”

“Water in the nest.” Castiel shot back, and finally Dean sighed and shrugged his shoulders, arms unwinding from where they’d been around Castiel. Castiel frowned at the loss, but quickly set about tightening his own hold, wrapped Dean up as best he could with the human refusing to stop squirming, and swimming off towards their nest.

While their nest still needed work, Castiel was proud of it all the same, especially since discovering his mate was human. It was isolated, but near enough to land where Dean wouldn’t feel trapped all the time, where he could walk around and enjoy the sun without straying out of Castiel’s easy reach. And the ocean gave them a constant food source, close enough where Castiel wouldn’t have to be gone for too long when hunting. Not to mention the space inside their nest, with enough smooth but rocky land for Dean to wander around on and pools of water for Castiel to swim into and keep himself from drying out. It was perfect, better than he could have thought.

He could only hope that Dean would approve of it. He needed the man to like the nest, needed him to accept it as his new home – Castiel didn’t know what he would do, otherwise.

* * *

 

 

It took a moment for Dean to remind himself to go lax in Castiel’s hold. Having a seraph wrapped around him screamed wrong, screamed danger and made him panic and want to struggle, but he was pretty confident by this point that Castiel wasn’t going to hurt him. Even though Dean was going to have to keep turning him down until he got it through his head that they weren’t mates. Something about Castiel seemed different, different from the seraph’s told about in the stories. Maybe it was just wishful thinking, but the creature seemed too innocent, too naïve, to be anything like the bloodthirsty creatures that had too easily wiped out every human army they came across. Castiel was more Little Mermaid, less Cthulhu. It made him feel safe, and maybe that was the point, maybe Castiel was hiding some sort of monstrous instinct underneath his childlike demeanor, but if he was then Dean had to admit, he was doing a damn good job of acting.

Castiel dragged him back into the cave, tentacles hoisting Dean up and helping him to climb up onto one of the many ledges. He waited, staring down at Castiel’s expectant face, trying to figure out what it was that Castiel so obviously wanted him to do. The seraph wouldn’t say anything, though, it just stared at him, tentacles twisting about in the water in a manner that struck Dean as being endearingly nervous. He shook his head to rid himself of the thought, reminding himself of the fact that no matter how innocent Castiel may seem, he had still _kidnapped_ Dean. His goal was getting out of here. He was not going to become attached to the creature.

After a while, it became apparent that Castiel wasn’t going to clue Dean in on what, exactly, he was supposed to be doing. So, with another soft, exasperated sigh, Dean finally tore his gaze away from the octopus-man in favor of looking around the cave. He’d denied himself the chance of taking it in earlier, too desperate to get out, but now it seemed like he was going to have to stay in here longer than he expected. He might as well see where, exactly, he was going to be temporarily living.

It was nice, as far as caves went. Dark. The only light that filtered in came from the opening, where the sun shined in, which meant that for most hours of the day the cave was probably going to uncomfortably dark. The center was a pool of water, seemingly cut off from the ocean but _bubbling_ , so Dean was pretty sure there was some sort of flow of water going on it. Which was good, he figured, because all kinds of shit could grow in stagnant water and he’d hate to die of some stupid sickness after all of this. Circling around the water was a rock ledge, where Dean was standing, except for one area near the back of the cave where the rocks just sort of…stopped. That’s where Castiel had set up the bed, a criss-cross of vines and what looked like seaweed, the gapes size all mismatching. Some were tiny, to the point where Dean was pretty sure he couldn’t even fit his finger, while others were large, enough to accommodate Castiel’s tentacles, just like Dean had seen when he first woke up. He had to wonder if the uneven design had been on purpose, or if Castiel had struggled with building the bed. Did seraphs even _need_ beds? Wouldn’t they just sleep in the water?

Was Dean the first person Castiel had taken, or had there been others? How many people had Castiel kidnapped, how many of the missing bodies had been taken as a seraph’s mate? And if he was right, if Castiel had been stealing people away…where were they all? What had _happened_ to them?

Castiel must have sensed his distress, catching Dean’s attention by cooing and crawling up onto the human’s lap, draping himself over the man.

“Mate?” Castiel cooed, curiously, “What’s wrong?”

“N-nothing,” Dean said, swallowing nervously. Castiel stared at him, eyes clearly telling Dean that his half-hearted attempt at a lie had not convinced him. “It’s just…have other people been here, Cas?” He tries to phrase the question delicately, the creatures name rolling off his tongue as a last minute addition. He doesn’t know what compelled him to nickname Castiel. He had done it earlier, too, without much thought. The name was just such a mouthful, and if Dean was going to have to talk to the creature a lot to get it to realize the flaws in its plans…it seemed natural to try and shorten the name, at least a little.

Castiel straightened up, then, tentacles puffing out in what looked to Dean like pride. “No one!” Castiel said, smiling, “Nest is safe. No one has been here.”

Dean breathed out, relieved. Maybe seraphs just liked being out of the water, then. He had no reason to believe Castiel, he knew, but for whatever reason seeing the creature look all...proud, like it’d done something great by keeping the nest empty, it made Dean believe him completely. If Castiel said no one had been in the nest…then he hadn’t taken anyone. Dean was his first, and hopefully his last, if Dean succeeds in his goal and gets Castiel to go off and find a seraph of his own to mate.

But Castiel is still staring at him, all hopeful and waiting, which is a damn shame because Dean still has no clue what the guy is waiting for. He can’t get up now, not with Castiel wrapped around him and sitting on his lap, which makes escaping the awkward situation about a million times harder.

Finally Castiel seems to take pity on him, huffing out a heavy breath and butting his head against Dean’s shoulder, wet hair dragging against Dean’s neck. He tenses under the unexpected touch, forcing himself to relax if only to prevent those tentacles from clamping down tighter, and figures his reward is that they remain lax around him. Castiel’s head is resting against his shoulder, now, tilted back so his eyes are peering up at Dean, sparkling with something Dean can’t quite identify.

“Do you like the nest?” Castiel asks him, one hand reaching up to drag over Dean’s shirt, fingers toying with one of the tiny loose buttons. Deans hand fidgets, fighting against the urge to tug Castiel away. He swallows, clenching his hand into his pants, managing to find one of the few non-torn areas of fabric to dig his nails into.

“Uh,” he says, voice thick. He swallows again, blinking to try and avoid staring at Castiel’s hopeful gaze. It’s almost painful to look at – Castiel is staring up at Dean like a child seeking approval, and he can’t stand the thought of tearing the poor guy down. He’s nervous, though – he doesn’t want Castiel to get the wrong idea. Doesn’t want the seraph to think that if Dean approved of his nest, that meant it was okay to keep him here, or whatever.

But Jesus, he was staring at Dean with puppy-dog eyes that rivaled Sam, all wide and innocent and not at all like the expression he’d always imaged a seraph to have. It’s making things so much harder, and finally Dean forces his eyes to look down, back at the mass of tentacles on top of him and around him. They’re the only thing he has to remind himself that Castiel _isn’t human_ , no matter how human his face or emotions might seem. He’s a seraph. That’s the only thing that matters, and Dean needs to remember that. Needs to stop himself from getting too attached.

If only that was as easy as he makes it sound. As things stand now, he can’t bring himself to crush Castiel. Eventually, he knows he’ll have to. He’s going to have to tear apart whatever dreams and hopes Castiel had right now, and hope that the seraph would understand that it was both inevitable and necessary. Hope that he didn’t break the seraph too much, leave him too damaged to go out and find a new mate. Dean doesn’t know why, but the thought of condemning Castiel to a life of isolation, all because he’d had the misfortune of thinking he could mate with a human…it makes him feel like a monster. He’ll find some way to break things to Castiel eventually, some gentle way that would work out in everyone’s favor. Eventually. For now, making him feel a little happy…well, there’s nothing really wrong with that, right?

“Yeah, Cas. ‘S a great nest.”

* * *

 

Castiel can’t help but smile up at his mate, one free tentacle looping around his shoulder and dragging them closer together. His smile grows when Dean’s tension only lasts for a few seconds, flittering through his body and then, as if Dean has reminded himself who was touching him, he relaxes back into the hold. Surely a good sign, Castiel reasons.

 _And_ his mate approves of their nest! The nest Castiel had spent so long working on, nearly all of his adult life had been dedicated towards creating their new home, and it had been _accepted_ by his intended mate! He still wanted to fix things up – he knew human nests differed from seraph nests, but he’d never been in one to see exactly _how_ , so he didn’t know what changes he should start with. He’d ask Dean, hopefully the man would be willing to share and then he could make the area a better blend of the two of them.

First, though, he has other things he needs to take care of. He nestles his head closer, rubbing against Dean’s shoulder as he thinks. They both need to eat – Castiel has a few fish swimming in the pool, cut off from the rest of the ocean and unable to escape. He doesn’t like keeping food in there; it’s his own personal spot, and he doesn’t like other creatures, even if they are lowly fish, so close to his mate. But when he’d gotten back and seen Dean missing, he hadn’t had time to think. He’d merely reacted, throwing the fish down and leaving. Luckily, there were only a couple. It wouldn’t take long to round them up again. He was pretty sure he’d gotten enough for both of them to eat, but he’d never actually _seen_ humans eat. The ones on the beach mostly drank some sort of odd smelling liquid out of loudly crunching cans or fragile bottles. He’d never seen them with food of any kind, which had proved bothersome when he left to hunt.

He also needs to make sure Dean approves of the bed. If they’re going to be sleeping in it every night, he needs to make sure it’s truly comfortable for his mate – he won’t have him losing sleep or shifting uncomfortably because Castiel doesn’t know how to build a proper bed, and he’d rather know now so he can start on fixing it up for them.

And he needs to get Dean out of his stupid layers of clothing. They were all torn now, anyway, certainly Dean couldn’t actually enjoy wearing them. And they were annoying. Cumbersome. Completely in the way. Castiel wanted to touch his skin, wanted to have a chance to actually examine it. He wanted to see what was his. And Dean wouldn’t stop covering it up. He has other clothes, things that he doesn’t think will cover up quite so much skin. He can only hope that they’ll actually fit Dean, and that the human will wear them without putting up too much of a fuss.

Oh well. Castiel can always just keep tearing, until there’s nothing left of these stupid clothes anyway. Then Dean won’t have a choice, he’ll either have to change into what Castiel wants or go around naked. Either option suits Castiel just fine.

First things first. He wiggles around, squirming until he’s sliding off of Dean’s lap and back into the water, one tentacle looped around the man’s ankle and another around his wrist, giving him enough of a hold to tug the man and encourage him to move where Castiel wants him to. He pulls, first trying to get Dean into the water, until a fish swims by, reminding Castiel of its presence. He nearly hisses and immediately stops pulling on Dean – he doesn’t want the man in the water with him, not when other things are in here too. Instead, he drags himself back up out of the water and starts dragging his way towards their bed, the two tentacles he has around Dean tugging until the human finally sighs and gets up, stumbling his way behind Castiel.

Dean stops when they get to the nest, freezing up, and Castiel doesn’t want to risk injuring him by pulling too hard. He cocks his head, looking up at Dean curiously.

“Bed.” He insists, suckers attaching to the wet fabric of Dean’s jacket. He coo’s, trying to get the man to relax again, to continue following Castiel.

“Uh-“ Dean starts, Adam’s apple bobbing as he reaches a hand up, scratching behind his head. “Look, I don’t really-“

“ _Bed_ ,” Castiel tries, again, clinging on a little tighter. He lets a few more tentacles reach out, wrapping around his mate, covering his ankles until he can force the man to take the last few steps he needs. Dean curses and nearly falls, hands waving in an effort to stabilize himself. Entirely unnecessary, because Castiel would never have let him fall – a few tentacles are already tense and waiting, perfectly prepared to spring out and catch the man should he truly lose his balance. Dean was never in danger, but it seemed the human had yet to learn that.

He would soon, but that wasn’t on Castiel’s list of priorities for the day, nor was it something he thought Dean would believe quite yet, anyway. He needed the human to accept his courtship, first, and then Dean would start feeling safe with him. That was the natural order of things.

* * *

Dean sucked in another desperate breath as he tried to calm himself. Okay. Castiel wanted to go sit in the bed – that was fine. Whatever. That didn’t mean anything.

Except Dean wasn’t tired. And he couldn’t imagine Castiel was, either, not with how energetically he was tugging at Dean. And there…really weren’t a lot of reasons to get into a bed. At least, not a lot of reasons that were exactly comforting to think about.

But Cas isn’t exactly relenting, and his suckers are starting to get painful, ripping through the remaining cloth they’d been on and attaching to Dean’s skin. He’s gonna have marks there, for sure, bruises that’ll be annoying and painful, and he hopes that’s not going to be a regular thing.

Regular, as in temporary. Because Dean is staying here temporarily. That was the plan, play nice and get Castiel to see reason and then _get out and never go near the water again_. And nothing was changing that. Not even stupidly blue eyes pleading with him to follow Castiel into their – _his, Castiel’s_ – bed.

He steps forward, first trying to just stand on the bed, but the openings make him feel uneasy and the vines teeter like they’re going to give in, both of which make him tense up and nearly fall again. He doesn’t miss how Castiel’s tentacles rise up in response, like they’re preparing to catch him should he actually lose his balance, and while the idea really pisses him off (he’s not some damsel in distress, after all, he doesn’t need a damn seraph waiting to catch him when he falls) he can’t bring himself to chew Castiel out like he wants to. If he actually does fall, he’d rather have to deal with Castiel’s flare of pride than the concussion and potential coddling that would ensue.

So, instead, he falls to his knees, nearly landing on top of Castiel’s tentacles in the process, and starts to crawl forward, hands gripping the vines for support. Castiel helps him along the way, at first letting Dean go at his own pace but then, eventually, he must get bored or impatient, because he moves his tentacles to wrap around Dean’s waist and chest and practically lifts him up. Dean lets out a shout of protest, hands waving as he tries to reach down and grab the vines, desperate to anchor himself to something, but Castiel doesn’t seem to even notice his disapproval. He drags the hunter until he’s closer, spreading him out and climbing on top of him, crossing his arms on top of Dean’s chest and pillowing his head on top.

He must look funny, because Castiel lets out a small huff of laughter. It’s the first time Dean’s heard the guy laugh – it sounds weird, just like everything else Castiel does, too gruff to be called a giggle but he doesn’t know what else to call it. It’s not full bodied laughter, Castiel isn’t shaking, there’s just a slight trace of amusement in his eyes and his lips are curved up in an almost smile.

Dean likes it. He wonders, absentmindedly, what it would be like to hear Castiel actually laugh, body curving in on itself and eyes squeezing shut and crinkles on the face laugh. Lose control laugh. Would it be loud, like the shrieking, or would it be nearly silent, more of a body movement type thing? He wants to hear it, or at least more of the controlled chuckles. They’re humanizing, in a way, and from this angle Dean cant’ really see the tentacles that he knows are there, and he can almost pass off the ones still wrapped around his legs and overlaying his body as something else, like the vines or wet blankets.

Cas would make an attractive human. He had the right face for it, bright blue eyes and tanned skin – Dean was straight, _he was_ , but only a fool would be able to look at Castiel and say the guy was anything but handsome. Beautiful, really. A work of art. And the rest of his body was just as tan, well-built and clearly strong. Yeah. If Castiel was human, he’d have a lot harder of a time reminding himself of why this was wrong.

 _But_ , he reminds himself, _he’s not human. He’s a seraph_. And yeah. That’s that. There’s no changing some things, and this is just one of them. It doesn’t matter what could be, what matters is what’s real – and besides that, a human Castiel wouldn’t have fucking kidnapped him. At least, he’s pretty sure he wouldn’t have. Dean would stand a chance against a human Castiel, and standing a chance meant even playing fields, and something about that made the idea of a relationship a little bit easier to swallow-

 _Stop_. He cuts himself off. He’s done thinking. That road will not lead to anywhere good. He needs to stay focused, keep his end goal in mind. He doesn’t know why that’s so damn hard. It wasn’t before, when he’d first woken up. It shouldn’t be now. But…it felt like every second he spent here, it was getting harder and harder to see Castiel as the terrifying creature he’d been warned about. Sam would tell him it’s Stockholm Syndrome. How long did it take for that to set in, anyway? How long had Dean even been gone?

Yeah. Sam was probably right. Stockholm Syndrome. He just needed to keep his head, and everything would be fine.

“Dean!” Castiel chirped, dragging his mind back. He forced himself to focus on Castiel, green eyes meeting blue, smiling in response to the grin Castiel is sporting. “Bed?”

He cocks one eyebrow up. _Yes_? He thinks. They’re in bed? But Castiel knew that already, he’d already called it a bed.

“Yeah?” Dean responds.

Castiel sighs again, wiggling on top of Dean’s body, dragging their skin together, “do you _like_ it?”

Oh. Right. Cas wanted approval. On everything, apparently. He wanted to tell him the truth – Dean’s approval was useless. Dean wasn’t the mate Castiel was going to end up with, it didn’t _matter_ if Dean liked the nest and the bed, that didn’t mean some other seraph was going to like it. And he didn’t want Castiel to think he’d been doing everything right only to find out that, for seraph’s, this whole thing was just a giant mess of shit. Setting the guy up for failure was _wrong_.

“It’s…fine?” Dean says, squeaking when Castiel doesn’t stop squirming on top of him. His dick is taking an active interest in where things are going, the friction pleasing despite himself, and he has to force himself to start thinking of boner-killing thoughts. He floods his mind with images of dead puppies, of Sam, of crashing his car – _of Sam crashing his damn car_ , anything he can think of to keep his dick from getting any harder.

He’d already had to deal with Cas fucking _examining_ it, sticking his damn tentacles down Dean’s pants and exploring. He doesn’t want to deal with the awkward conversation that’s sure to follow if Cas sees fit to ask why it looks different. There’s just no way that conversation can end in a good place for Dean.

Cas sighs, but he looks somewhat happy, and Dean chalks that up as a win. “Promise?” Castiel chirps, “the bed is good? Comfortable?”

Dean nods his head. It’s about as comfortable as it can get, he figures, considering it’s not an actual bed. And if he’s being honest with himself, it’s better than some of the motel mattresses he’d laid on, and it’s damn better than the hardwood floors he’d occasionally had to use. It’d be better if Dean didn’t feel like it was about to flip over and dump him in the water, but hey, beggars can’t be choosers, and at least he’s not lying on the stone. At least Cas knows he can’t sleep in the water – that would have been bad.

“Promise.” He says, finally, when Cas is still staring down at him. Castiel smiles at him, and Dean’s breath catches when he suddenly leans forward and butts his head against Dean’s, nose brushing against Dean’s jawline. He keeps rubbing, practically _nuzzling_ Dean’s jaw and neck. Dean was tense as hell, trying to remind himself that struggling would only make those damn tentacles grip onto him tighter, and really, there was no _harm_ coming from this. It was like a cat, he rationalized. Except didn’t cats do that to scent mark their territory and pretty much claim whatever the fuck they wanted?

It didn’t matter – his rationalization went out the window around the time something decidedly _wet_ brushed against his Adam’s apple. _Holy shit_ , Cas was fucking lapping at his skin now, soft little licks that tickled and Dean swore he’d never moved so fast in his life, reaching his arms up and grabbing at Castiel’s shoulders, shoving as hard as he could until the seraph finally huffed and lifted off of him.

Not, of course, before licking once more, tongue dragging along the curve of Dean’s neck and nose nudging at the bottom of his jaw one last time. He didn’t manage to make Cas move very far – he was back to hovering over Dean now, smiling even though his eyes betrayed his confusion.

He could feel himself blushing, and he knew his face must be completely red by this point, and his heavy breathing certainly wasn’t helping matters. Holy shit. Who _did_ that, who just… _licked_ at people, what the fuck? His neck was _wet_ and _cold_ now, and Castiel didn’t even look fucking sorry about it, just confused, like he didn’t even know why Dean had made him stop, like if Dean’s arms fell away Castiel would press right back down and keep lapping at him like some kind of kitten.

Dean shut his eyes. Took in a deep breath. Grounded himself. Castiel isn’t human, he reminded himself, again. He probably doesn’t know licking people is weird, maybe it’s something seraph’s do. Dean just has to _tell_ him, and then everything will be okay and they can laugh about this-

Except _shit_ , apparently his grip must have loosened, because sometime between shutting his eyes and making that decision Castiel had managed to lower his head again, and now he’s licking at Dean’s _cheek_.

“Stop!” Dean yelped, eyes going wide as he scrambles for purchase on Castiel again, pushing him away once more. Castiel looks irritated, now, trying to continue even as Dean pushes him away.

“What’s wrong?”

“You’re _licking_ me, that’s what’s wrong!” Dean’s practically screaming, while Castiel is calm as ever. “Jesus, people don’t _do_ that, Cas, what the hell?”

“I’m scent-marking you,” Castiel says, voice even, as if this is a purely normal thing everyone does, still leaning forward in an attempt to get close enough to continue. “I need to get my scent on you, and prior to mating, this is the easiest way.”

Prior to? Oh, _hell_ , no. No no no. They are _not_ mating, there is not going to be any _scent marking_. Dean was not going to go back to the mainland smelling like a seraph’s favorite toy – he didn’t even know what that would wind up _meaning_ for him, would other people be able to notice it, or was it a seraph thing?

Doesn’t matter, he reminds himself, it’s _not happening_. “ _No_ ,” Dean says, teeth clenched and voice low as he tries to make the word as commanding as possible. “No, people don’t do that, Cas, _you’re_ not doing that.”

Cas tilts his head, “then how will others know of my claim?”

“You don’t _have_ a claim! I’m not _yours_!”

Cas huffs out a sigh, “it’s not safe for you to be here without my claim.”

“Then maybe you should _let me go_ ,” Dean hisses.

He knows immediately after saying it that he’s pushed his luck too far, that he’s pushed _Cas_ too far, but before he can so much as try and apologize the lax tentacles around him have clenched down, wrapping as tight as they possible could, suckers clinging to his clothes and, through the many holes, his skin. It’s painfully tight, knocking all the breath out of him and making him hiss, though Cas doesn’t seem to notice.

And, Jesus, Cas looks terrifying. His eyes are wide and dark, wild and uncontrolled. His mouth is curved down, a hint of sharp teeth exposed where his lips part, and his entire body is shaking as he growls at Dean, the sound harsh and more than a little scary, making Dean push back against the bed to try and get away.

Which makes things worse, makes Cas’ sounds louder and makes his tentacles force his back up off the bed, just long enough for them to wrap behind him, and now he’s surrounded by the tentacles, now the only thing he can touch and see is Cas, surrounding him and invading all of his senses. He feels trapped, constricted, _claustrophobic_ , feelings that as a hunter, he absolutely hates.

“ _Stop_ ,” Castiel hisses out, voice low and menacing, successful in his effort to scare the shit out of Dean whereas Dean had the feeling he’d only come off as ridiculous. “You will not say such things again.”

Dean narrows his eyes, glaring at Castiel. He’s being stupid. Reckless. He knows he is, knows he should really watch his tone and words with a seraph on top of him, watch every move he makes, because despite everything he really doesn’t want to die here, on a stupid hunt where he made a stupid mistake. But he can’t help himself, he really can’t, every fiber of his being is screaming to retaliate, to show Cas that he can’t be pushed around. That _humans_ can’t be pushed around, that no matter how fucking strong seraph’s might be, humans will still fight and claw their way through life. It doesn’t matter if Dean can’t win, he’s still going to _fight_.

“I’ll say whatever the hell I want,” Dean retorts, working to keep his tone as even as possible, “and if you have a _problem_ with that, then _maybe_ you should let this whole damn thing go and _bring me back to_ -“

The tentacles bare down tighter, cutting Dean’s sentence off with an ‘oomph’ and now all he can do is glare up. He can hardly breath – if Castiel keeps this up, he’s going to wind up passing out from lack of oxygen, and fast. He can’t decide if that’s a good thing or not. At least Cas couldn’t glare at him if he was unconscious, right?

But he doesn’t get that lucky, of course. He was a Winchester. Why would he start being lucky _now_? Castiel’s anger seems to melt away, still there but less pronounced, worry and flares of concern taking its place. He loosens his hold, still painfully tight but at least Dean can breathe now, and he responds by taking in gulping breaths, trying to stop his heart from pounding so damn loud. Cas looks almost remorseful, which is…confusing, to say the least.

“Are you okay?” Castiel asks, one tentacle reaching up to stroke along Dean’s cheek. He tilts his head away, barely able to move but making the most of it, scowling. Castiel winces, tentacle tensing up and Dean’s surprised when it doesn’t chase after him, instead flexing in the air where Dean had once been.

            “Don’t touch me.”

            Castiel looks like he’s about to get angry again, getting himself in check before he constricts on Dean again. He’s breathing hard, eyes shut, and Dean can see the veins running through him flexing as he keeps himself from more than likely killing Dean.

            “Please,” Castiel says, when his eyes finally flicker open again, his voice barely above a whisper. He’s close enough, though, where Dean could hear him no matter how soft he was, he can hear every breathe the creature takes and he can hear the slight slick wet sound his tentacles make as they move about. “We’re mates. Mates are supposed to touch each other, they’re supposed to,” he stops, sighs, frustrated, and his head leans down again, making Dean tense up.

            He doesn’t lick again, though, just nuzzles his nose against Dean’s cheek, just like before. Like a scolded animal asking for forgiveness, Dean thinks, except seraphs don’t get scolded and they sure as hell don’t apologize, so he’s not sure what’s going on here anymore. Castiel’s hand comes up, resting against the other side of Dean’s face, a gentle enough presence where Dean knows he could knock it away if he really wanted to. Castiel wasn’t trapping his face, wasn’t forcing him to accept his advances, but his tentacles weren’t exactly letting him free, anyway.

            “Yeah, well, I’ve got some bad news for you, man,” Dean says, soft and steady. He takes a breath – this could end really well for him, if Cas will just listen and accept what he’s saying. Or it could end very bad, with him either being torn apart of suffocated or any number of things. But now’s as good a time as any – he can’t let moments like this slip away, can’t let Castiel think something that isn’t true. It’ll make it harder, once the seraph finally realizes that humans weren’t meant to be compatible mates. “We’re not mates, Cas. No matter how bad you may want it…it’s just not true. And it’ll never _be_ true.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small update today, in honor of Sam Winchester's birthday. There probably won't be another update until late next week - my finals end on Thursday, so I'll aim to have something up either Thursday night or Friday morning.  
> For now, enjoy! And thanks to everyone who has commented and/or left kudos on this - it makes my stressful days a lot better!
> 
> I'm on Tumblr, too, for anyone who wants to come talk to me! Same username (Hywar) so please feel free to come talk to me.

Castiel was pretty sure he could feel something in him snap. His soul, maybe, the very essence of his being, torn and ripped like it was nothing. He fought against his instincts, which were clamoring at him, begging to wrap Dean up tighter, to cling to him until he laughed and said he was kidding, because certainly this had to be some kind of sick joke. He hadn’t waited _years_ only for his mate not to want him, right?

            What had he done wrong? Dean liked their nest, he had said so himself. He liked their bed. Castiel checked him over, made sure he wasn’t hurt, helped him get down from that stupid tree – he’d even chased away that vampire, and kept Dean safe from that other human pursuer. Why was his mate denying him, then, if he’d been trying so hard?

            He must be mistaken. Confused. Something. There’s just no way he could truly _mean_ what he’s saying. It couldn’t be true. He couldn’t let the man go, they couldn’t be apart, even those few moments where Dean had been out of his sight had been torture. If the human left him, went back to his old life…Castiel wouldn’t be able to survive, he was sure of it. The only thing worse than not having a mate was _losing_ your mate, and it’d be made all the worse when he’d have to deal with the knowledge that Dean was _still alive_ , and just _didn’t want him._ He wasn’t good enough. Dean thought he could do better.

            Dean _could_ do better. He was perfect. He probably had suitors lining up to court him, Castiel was just one of many, and that made a harsh flare of jealousy flare through him. Dean was his, for his eyes only. No one else should ever touch the man. They might be more _deserving_ , but they certainly couldn’t offer him everything Castiel could. He could protect Dean, could take care of him, Dean wouldn’t ever have to work or stress. He would take care of all of his mate’s needs.

            Was this some other challenge, maybe, a test he had to pass? Dean needed to know that he was willing to fight for him, and the only way to do that was for the human to play hard to get? A human custom would make sense, certainly they must _have_ them, and Castiel already knew Dean wanted a courtship…

            That must be it, then. Dean was challenging him, trying to, in his own way, get Castiel to prove his devotion. Well. He could do that. He _would_ do that. He wasn’t going to leave his mate, or let Dean leave him, not _ever_. He’d stick with Dean no matter what harsh nonsense spilled from his mouth.

            His mouth. Castiel bit the inside of his cheek to hold himself in check. He wanted to mate with his human, his mate, wanted to sink into him, see what it was like to be inside of his Dean. Had Dean been with others before? Humans didn’t seem to have the same beliefs when it came to mating, they were so much freer. As a child, many times Castiel had seen the same faces mating with various others, and all within such short timespans. For a while, it had made him wonder if humans took mates at all. His brother had been quick to rid him of that belief, scoffing at the humans and explaining how they simply _didn’t care_ , how the act of mating wasn’t as sacred as the seraphs held it to be. Humans would mate many times with many people, sometimes with many people at the same time, things seraph’s couldn’t even fathom doing. Castiel supposed it made sense, given that humans had no easy way of determining who their true mate was – perhaps they found out _by_ mating, perhaps some flare of recognition would shoot through them if the mating was correct, and so group mating was actually a good thing, because it upped the chances of finding their true mate?

            He wondered what it would feel like, then, for him and Dean to mate. Would it feel stronger for Dean than it would for him, would that be the moment the human fully recognized Castiel as his mate?

            Had Dean mated with other people, he wondered? The thought made him grip the human tighter, Dean humming in displeasure. Humans might be keen on sharing each other, but seraphs most certainly were not. Dean was Castiel’s, and no one else would ever touch him again. There would be no group matings. No _other_ matings. Would Dean dislike that, did he enjoy the groups as much as the other humans seemed to?

            It didn’t matter. Castiel would set things straight. Once they mated, Dean would _never_ want another human by his side. Castiel would be better. He’d be better than anything Dean had ever experienced, he’d be sure of it. He wouldn’t stop until Dean agreed that he was his, until all thoughts of leaving were wiped away and Dean would never want the touch of another on him again. When Dean wanted pleasure, he would think only of Castiel. No one else, never anyone else. The thought sent a thrill of excitement through Castiel – he wanted to know what Dean would look like, how his skin would feel and what it took to take this man apart.

            He didn’t want to wait. But, he knew he had to. To mate with Dean now, prior to the courtship…it was wrong. The dominant couldn’t do that, he needed to win Dean over first. It didn’t matter that Castiel knew he was the perfect mate for Dean, capable of providing him with everything he could ever need – Dean needed to understand that, too, Dean needed to see him as the mate he wanted before Castiel could claim him like he so desperately wanted to. He wanted to speed up the courtship, wanted this phase over and done with so Dean could be his once and for all…but Dean deserved better than that. Dean _deserved_ a courtship, and he _wanted_ one, so Castiel would give it to him. Even if it took months.

What, then, should he say to Dean? Should he scold him for his harsh words? He’d already tried that, though, and it had served only to scare the poor man. He didn’t want to do that again – it’d set his courtship back further, the _opposite_ of what Castiel so desperately wanted. Perhaps if he just…ignored it, Dean would let it go? If he didn’t respond to Dean’s silly pseudo-requests, maybe he would stop asking and forgot about it and accept that he belonged with Castiel, and he’d finally let Castiel make him happy and claim him!

            He cards his fingers through Dean’s hair, letting out a pleased hum when Dean doesn’t try to shift away from him. The human is tense, muscles hard and bulging, so Castiel runs his tentacles along them, trying to ease them. If Dean keeps this up much longer, his muscles will be sore…and while that will give Castiel an opportunity to make him feel better (he knows humans differ from seraph’s in many ways, but he’s still confident he knows how to alternate his grip to give a massage, and certainly that will impress Dean and make him happy) he doesn’t want to see his mate in any sort of pain, especially not something so easily avoidable.

            He doesn’t say anything the entire time, waiting for Dean to calm down and relax. It seems like it takes forever, but finally, _finally_ , he feels the man become pliant again, loose-limbed and dependent on Castiel, relaxing against the mass of tentacles woven around him. Dean is staring at him, eyebrows raised, and he’s chewing on his lip again.

            This time, Castiel doesn’t fight back the urge. He’s seen how uneasy Dean gets when his tentacles get near his mouth, and while he doesn’t understand it (and he knows it’s something they’ll have to work him out of) he knows enough to stop himself from doing it. Instead, he lets his hand fall from Dean’s hair, fingertips dragging along Dean’s mouth until his bottom lip pops out, slick with saliva and indented from the harsh press of his front teeth. Castiel tutts, quietly, knowing Dean can’t hear the soft sound, and pushes the length of his finger against the seam of Dean’s mouth, hard enough where the man has no choice but to part his lips and let the intrusion in.

            Dean lets out a grunt of disapproval, which Castiel ignores. He won’t chew on Castiel’s finger, he’s not comfortable enough for that yet, but he still feels successful – Dean isn’t tearing at his lip anymore, anyway.

            “Hungry?” Castiel chirps, leaning back so he’s hovering over his mate once more. His instincts are protesting, needing to further the claim on the man. Dean barely smells like a claimed mate, Castiel’s scent so faint one would have to be right up against Dean to smell it. And, considering he has no claiming mark, and the bruises his suckers have left are few…it would be so very easy for anything to come in here and see Dean as open for the taking. Castiel would have to stay with him, would have to guard him fiercely, to keep that from happening. At least until Dean let him make his claim more obvious…or until night, when Dean fell asleep and wouldn’t be up for complaining about such acts. Whichever came first.

            Dean glares at him for a moment, before he finally looks away, eyes darting to inspect the side of the cave. Castiel takes that as agreement, his own eyes finally tearing away from his mate to look at the pool of water. The fish are still swimming around, probably considering themselves lucky, thinking that they’d somehow gotten away from the seraph. It won’t take long to gather them up, but…it’s still longer than he’d like, it’s still time he would have to get off of Dean.

            Reluctantly, he unwinds himself from his mate, letting Dean’s back fall against the bed. Dean shifts, squirming, helping to get out of Castiel’s sure grip, fingers wrapping around one of the vines to steady himself as he topples down. With one last swipe against his chest, Castiel tosses himself off the side of the bed, hovering for a moment in case the sudden motion made his mate wobble and fall. It didn’t, other than a slightly stronger grip Dean didn’t even seem fazed by the sudden rocking, and Castiel set about hunting down the fish again. He kept his focus above water, slowing him down slightly, waiting to hear the sound of the bed rocking or feet padding against the floor, anything to tell him that Dean was getting up and moving around again.

            When he’d finally gathered up the last fish (an annoying one that kept trying to dart out of Castiel’s reach, until finally Castiel had had enough and snapped a longer tentacle out, easily wrapping around it and nearly snapping it in half), he swam back to the side of the bed, popping his head out of the water. He lifted the fish up, eager for Dean to inspect them, wanting his mate to see that he was capable of providing him with food. Castiel was a good hunter, he’d never gone hungry before, and he would never allow his mate to be hungry either. No matter what the weather, he would go out and ensure that Dean had enough to be comfortable.

            Dean tilts his head at him, staring at the fish oddly, his eyes wide and lips parting. Castiel offers up a smile, shoving the fish towards Dean, silently asking him to come closer, to reach out, to show some form of approval.

            “Cas,” Dean says, slowly, “what do you know about human food?”

            Castiel looks at him, slowly lowering the fish back into the water. He doesn’t understand. People eat fish. There used to be fishing boats, back before the humans started fighting. Humans ate all kinds of things. Why didn’t Dean want the fish?

            “Humans eat fish.” Castiel states, proudly, pushing the fish back up again. Dean must be testing him, he figures, but he’ll certainly pass this test. He swims a little closer, one hand reaching up to fist around the edge of the bed, hauling himself up to lay beside Dean.

            Dean heaves out a sigh, wiggling over so Castiel can fit more comfortably, “yeah, Cas, people eat fish. But _cooked_ fish. We can’t eat raw meat. And you don’t have a fire. Or anything to start one.”

            Castiel froze. Fire. Right. He’d seen those, on the beach, the humans always seemed to swarm about them. They seemed…dangerous. And unpleasant. They filled the air with smoke that hurt to breathe in, and the one time they’d left some of it burning after they left and Castiel had dragged himself onto the beach to inspect, it had been painfully hot.

            But of course they had their uses; why else would humans go near them? Cooking food. It seemed like a waste of time, if Castiel was being honest – had Dean ever _tried_ to just eat the raw fish, without ruining it by shoving it into a hot flame? Probably not. But, if Dean insisted that he needed fire, it was Castiel’s job to provide one. Even though he didn’t know how. He’d never been around when the humans started the fire, he was normally drawn to the area when he heard the crackling and the change in air, and he’d always go to make sure they didn’t try and invade his territory or pose a threat. He’d never even _thought_ about how to start a fire. That certainly wouldn’t impress Dean, wouldn’t get him any closer to proving to the man that he was, indeed, the best mate for him-

            Dean sighed, slowly starting to heave his way up off the bed, and Castiel snapped back into focus, wrapped a tentacle around the man’s ankle to keep him from leaving.

            “Fire, Cas,” Dean says, letting out another heavy sigh, “less you know how to start one yourself?”

            Castiel glances down, ashamed, before shaking his head softly. He glances back up at Dean in time to see his mate’s hand twitch, fingers curling towards Castiel before catching themselves. He wants to butt his head against them, wants the contact that he was being denied, but he already feels like he’s failed Dean. He doesn’t _deserve_ the attention, not if he can’t figure out something his mate needs, something as simple as a _fire_.

            “Right.” Dean says, turning back towards the mouth of the cave, “come on, then, let’s see what we can do.”

* * *

 

Dean doesn’t know why he even bothers to include Castiel. It isn’t necessary, Cas would’ve followed him out anyway, but he can’t hide his smile when he notices how Cas visibly brightens at the inclusion. He’d looked sad, before, and it hadn’t taken a genius to figure out that Cas had no idea how to go about starting a fire – and while Dean kinda would enjoyed seeing a powerful seraph get frustrated over such a stupid thing, he was also hungry and a fire would be helpful for drying out his clothes. And if he waited too long, it’d be dark, and he really didn’t want to go about finding shit when it was both hard to see and growing colder.

            Cas tosses the fish back into the water, and Dean feels a pang of sympathy for the poor creatures. They’d already been in here when they came back to the cave, and there’s no way the fish could have gotten in here on their own – so twice, now, they had thought they had gotten free of a seraph. They were probably celebrating, again, thinking that some kind of miracle had helped them, when in reality their deaths were just being delayed. He’d never felt bad for fish before, but, damn. He didn’t envy them.

            It takes Dean a bit to manage to get off of the bed, and even though Cas is trying to help him, he’s really only hindering Dean’s progress, tentacles keeping him from raising his feet as much as he wanted to, extra weight throwing off Dean’s already messed up balance. It feels like he’s drunk, ever step he takes makes him wobble and the bed underneath him sways haphazardly, threatening to tip him into the water, but finally, he gets close enough where he can just barely reach forward and place his foot down on solid ground.

            He breathes easier, after that, Castiel trailing behind him as he makes his way out of the cave. The sun is still out, bright and shining, but far lower than it was when Dean first snuck out of the cave – pretty soon, he knows, the sun will set and it’ll be night, which means getting back into that bed and having Cas lean over him. Having tentacles wrapped around him, wet and constricting, a blanket of warmth Dean would rather do without.

            But if he constructs a fire, maybe he can talk Cas into letting him sleep outside. It’ll be cold as hell, but the fire’ll probably keep him warm enough, and he’s not stupid enough to think Cas would leave him out here alone, which means someone would be around to make sure the flames didn’t get out of hand and risk burning Dean alive. If he got his jacket to dry, he could probably use it as a makeshift blanket, too.

            First things first, though, he needs a fire for any of that to happen.

            “Alright, Cas,” Dean claps his hands, toes curling in on the warm sand. Cas stares up at him, curiously, eyes wide as he stares at Dean’s hands, still clasped together. “What do you know about fires?”

            “They’re…warm? Unpleasantly so. They fill the air with smoke that hurts to breathe.” Castiel says, earnestly, hands and tentacles both waving about as he tries to illustrate his point, hands rubbing together in a mimicry of what Dean knows he’s seen human’s do on particularly cold nights. Dean chuckles, shaking his head. Right. Of course a sea creature wouldn’t understand the benefits of a fire, why would they? Cas probably thought the idea of one was stupid, and was just going along with it for Dean’s sake. Whatever.

            It wasn’t exactly a life skill Cas was going to _need_ , but, hey, Dean had decided that he needed to teach the seraph a few things about life if he was going to find another mate. And while whatever other seraph Cas finally settled down with (and _no_ , Dean chastises himself, the thought of that did _not_ just send a flare of something entirely unpleasant through his body) might not be too impressed with such an ability, who knows. Odds are, Cas had never been near a fire, which means the other seraph might not have been either – maybe they’d be enchanted, maybe Cas could impress them with the dancing flames or something. It’s worth a shot, anyway, and it’s not like it’ll hurt anything.

            “Okay, well, then,” Dean says, shielding his eyes with one hand while he looks around the beach, “first thing we need is somewhere to build it.”

            Cas looks around, eyes tracing over the land Dean has already covered, one brow cocked, “why does it matter?” he says, finally.

            “Can’t build a fire just anywhere, Cas. Needs to be flat. Can’t be too windy, or the flame’ll get put out faster than you can build it. Not to mention, you’ll risk setting anything near you on fire, too, and nothing’s worse than an out of control fire. It’ll destroy damn near everything.”

            Cas nods at him, eyes wide again, and Dean sighs, reaching down and running a hand through wet black hair.

            “Relax. ‘S’not as bad as I made it sound, so long as you know what you’re doing.” Cas doesn’t look convinced, still staring at Dean warily, but Dean just runs his hand through Cas’ hair again and walks off.

            Luckily, the beach seems mostly flat, and there’s this one area more towards the cave that Dean’s pretty sure will work. The stone cave wall takes up part of the edge, so the fire shouldn’t be able to spread too much, worse comes to worse. And it’s close enough where Cas doesn’t get all antsy – his tentacles had tightened and started curling when Dean looked back over to the center of the island, where a patch of dirt looked absolutely perfect for his purposes. And, besides, if the purpose of this is to teach Castiel, it only makes sense to pick a place the seraph can easily get to, right?

            He settles down, pitching his weight down to his knees near the area, trying to ignore how Castiel was hovering over him, one tentacle lazily thrown over both of his shoulders, anchoring them together. He doesn’t have anything to dig with, so he’ll have to settle for using his hands. He cups them together, starting to dig around, alternating between tossing the sand behind him and into the water.

            “This is gonna take a bit,” Dean says, casting a look over at Cas, startling when he realizes just how close their faces wind up being, “you might want to go back in the water.”

            “I want to help.” Cas says, crossing his arms together and leaning against Dean’s back a little more. He’s biting his lip, though, and Dean’s not stupid – there’s no way Cas is gonna be of much use, not doing this.

            “Look,” he says, voice soft, “I know you do, but right now I gotta dig a pretty big hole, and considering this area is all sand, I don’t really think that’s something you oughta be doing.” Castiel purses his lips, eyes narrowing, so Dean starts talking again, eager to stop the seraph from arguing with him over something so stupid. He’s trying to _help_ Cas, not _hurt_ him, damnit, you’d think the creature would be a little more appreciative. “Hey! That doesn’t mean you can’t still help, though!” Dean says, quickly. “you know where we can find some decent rocks around here?”

            Cas nods his head, slowly, “there are some stones on the other side of the island.”

            “Good. I need you to bring some of them over here – as many as you can, actually.”

            “Why?” Cas chirps, slowly heading towards the water, movements hampered by his refusal to let go of Dean.

            “We gotta line the pit with ‘em, that’s all.”

            Cas nods, again, but stops moving, one tentacle still looped around Dean’s waist. It takes a moment for all the pieces to fit together for Dean, and when they do he can’t help but groan.

            “Oh for fuck’s-“ he mumbles, catching himself only when Cas starts to strain forward, trying to catch what Dean was mumbling, “Cas,” he tries, instead, forcing himself to keep calm, “I’m not gonna up and disappear. There’s nowhere to even _go_. Just, go get the damn rocks.”

            And, geez, Cas doesn’t seem thrilled about the admonishment, but whatever, Dean could use a little trust around here. Seriously. There was nowhere for him to take off, and he doubted Cas would be gone that long anyway – and the seraph had to know how hungry he was getting, anyway.

            “That’s not what I’m-“ Cas stops, catching himself, waving a hand towards Dean, “that’s not the problem.” He says, finally.

            Dean casts him a look, tossing another handful of sand into the water. “Yeah? So what’s wrong, then?”

            “If another seraph comes-“

            “They come by often?” Dean asks, eyes snapping up to meet Cas. So far, Cas has been an exception to every rule Dean knew about seraph’s – but he really doesn’t want to meet another one, to know if his luck will hold out.

            Cas shakes his head, “No. But, if they do, you don’t have enough of a mark to-“

            “But, they probably won’t come by,” Dean points out, grabbing more sand, scowling as the gritty particles nestle their way under his fingernails. He could do with a shower, not just to get the knots out of his back but to get the grim and filth that’s covering his skin off, too. Unfortunately, that’s one more thing that’ll have to wait until he gets back to the mainland. “And, besides, you’re not really going too far. You’d hear them, wouldn’t you?”

            Cas nods, again, first soft then growing more animate. “Right, of course.”

            “So, you could come back, if something started getting too close?”

            Castiel seems more relaxed as he nods, lips quirking up in a smile. He lets his tentacle drag along Dean’s skin when he pulls it back, finally pushing off into the water and swimming away.

            Dean tries not to think about how the fact that Cas could hear, would hear, would come back, is actually really comforting. Cas wouldn’t let anything near him, he’s sure of that.

            It’s not that he _likes_ that, he tries telling himself. It’s just…it’s good for his safety, that’s all.

            It certainly doesn’t make him feel warm inside. It’s just a matter of safety, a matter of practicality. That’s all.

* * *

 

Making the fire winds up being easier than Dean thought it would be. Cas brings back more than enough rocks to surround the respectable hole Dean had managed to claw into the ground, and the center of the island had actually had a decent amount of sticks and branches for him to drag over. Although, that had taken some convincing on his part – Cas didn’t want him going anywhere near that part of the island, and Dean had almost wound up having to carry Cas on his back while he worked, getting out of it only by reminding Cas that he was _human_ , and human’s weren’t exactly that strong. Cas had begrudgingly allowed him past his easy reach, though Dean could feel his eyes burning into his back, tracking his every movement, and he’d heard the distressed shrilling sound Cas had made when he’d presumably disappeared from sight.

            And _starting_ the fire had been a task in and of itself, especially because Cas had been so damn curious about everything Dean was doing, and nervous that Dean was going to hurt himself. Dean tried to remind himself that he was supposed to be teaching Cas, but that was hard when every time he got so much as a spark, Cas would suddenly hiss and try to drag Dean away. It was soaking his clothes through again, and Dean was nervous that Cas would eventually wind up getting the wood wet, too, and all of this would be for nothing.

            It was worth it, though, when he’d finally managed to get some smoke. Cas had freaked out again, at that point, when Dean had bent down and started blowing on the tiny flame, coaxing it into life, but Dean had held his ground and managed to get the flame really going before Cas succeeded in pulling him back.

            Now they were sitting in front of the warm flames. Cas was entranced by the flames, a few tentacles looped around Dean loosely, while his attention was fixed on the tiny fire roaring to life beside them. Pretty soon Dean’s stomach was going to remind him about the real point in this whole adventure, but for right now he was content to sit in front of the flames and let their warmth fight off the chill his water-logged clothes had provided him with. He wondered, once more, how long he was going to be stuck here. Pretty soon it wouldn’t even be worth trying to keep his clothes on, the holes would have gotten too big and they’d be nothing more than scraps, barely clinging to his filthy skin.

            But the island did get pretty cold at night, and he had the feeling Cas wasn’t going to let him sleep by the fire. And, even if he did, Dean still wasn’t sure he’d be warm enough. He’d need to take a look around, maybe tomorrow, see if he could find some leaves to cover himself in. Hopefully that’d solve some of the problem.

            He’d been relaxing, leaning back, head turned towards the sky as the flames flickered behind his closed eyelids, when he slowly came to the realization that he was being watched. He opens one eye, staring lazily at Cas, whose now looking at Dean with that same level of fascination.

            “Something wrong?” Dean asks, voice a slow drawl. He’s tired, and his stomach is starting to growl it’s complaints at him, and he’s already looking forward to going back to sleep, even though he knows it’s going to be too cold to get too deep into sleep.

            “It’s so small,” Cas says, and it takes Dean a minute to figure out what he’s talking about. At first he wonders if he should be insulted – is Cas saying that Dean didn’t build a good enough fire? – but then he remembers that, in all likelihood, the only fires Cas ever saw were the ones on the beach. And those were big, those were known for getting out of control fast.

            “Yeah,” he says, shaking his head, “there’s not really a reason for those big ones, especially not for cooking on. They’d just burn the food up. And they’re hard to control. ‘Sides, they eat up a lot of wood.” He’s not sure how much of that Cas actually cares about, but the seraph seems to try and take in the shared knowledge, nodding his head and looking determined. When the fire goes out, Dean has the feeling Cas is going to be insistent on being the one to restart it – which means tomorrow night’s fire will probably take twice as long to make, but at least Cas would have his satisfied smile, and Dean would have managed to teach him _something_. If Cas was so amazed by something like a small fire, other seraphs would hopefully feel the same.

Cas starts crawling away, back towards the water, never letting Dean out of his sight. When he’s finally half in, his eyes flicker towards the cave.

            “Stay.” Cas orders. Dean rolls his eyes, but nods. The fire is warm enough, and it’s starting to get dark out – besides, there’s not much of the island left to explore, save for the side that Cas had gone to get the rocks from, and Dean has the feeling the beach will look the same over there as it did over here. Cas stares at him for a moment longer before quickly swimming out, heading back towards their cave. Dean relaxes once Castiel is gone, shifting around until his back is flat against the sand, head pillowed on his arms. It’s not the most comfortable he’s ever been, but it’s close enough to the fire where he’s still warm, and he can stare up at the rapidly darkening night sky.

It’s actually kind of peaceful out here, if he’s being honest with himself. Not as bad as he thought it could be, anyway, and if he was going to be stuck on a deserted island for who knows how long, he’s glad it’s this one. Built-in shelter is always a plus, he figures, and the lapping water is kinda soothing. It’ll probably get old fast, but for right now Dean is willing to milk this for all it’s worth – it’s like a vacation, really. A weird vacation that he was forced to go on, with a seraph that doesn’t understand interspecies mating is a no-no, but hey – at least he gets a break from running around. His only real job is talking sense into Cas, and trying to help him figure out how to actually _court_ someone. Other than that, he gets to sleep and relax all he wants, without Sam bothering him or Bobby calling about new jobs.

Before long, blue eyes and a mop of black hair take the place of the sky, Castiel smiling down at him. Dean smiles back, a reflex action, hampered only when he realizes smiling might give Cas the wrong idea. His smile waivers, and Cas’ eyebrows scrunch together, but he doesn’t call Dean out on his sudden change.

Instead, he waves something out of the corner of Dean’s eyes – his tentacles, Dean realizes, wrapped around the poor fish he’d caught earlier. They’re dead, now, or close to it – they’re not flapping about, in the very least, although that might be more because of the tight grip Castiel has on them, and they’re mouths aren’t opening to try and gulp in water that isn’t there. Dean scrunches his nose and fights against the urge to look away.

It isn’t that he doesn’t like fish – he enjoys it as much as the next guy, really, although he didn’t have many opportunities to _eat_ fish. It wasn’t exactly something the typical diner offered, and the places that did were normally too divy for him to risk ordering any. Besides, those places also typically offered burgers, and those were a much better option that stupid fish. But, either way, he’d never had fish offered to him that hadn’t been _cooked_ before, fish that he’d seen moments ago flopping and swimming about. Fish with the damn _head_ still attached, eyes bugging out and staring at Dean with a glazed look that made Dean shiver in distaste.

He’d have to get used to it, though, at least for het time being. It’s not like Cas had easy access to anything else for him to eat, and if his options were limited to fish or leaves…well, he was going to have to look past the mild distaste of having his food stare him down before he ate it.

Maybe next time he could talk Cas into tearing off the heads, or something. Then again, he really didn’t want to ask Cas for any favors. He could be a man and suck it up. No need to ask Cas for anything except what he really wanted – to get off this island.

Cas must have figured his staring was akin to his paying attention, because suddenly he had a lap full of cold, wet, _dead_ fish, and Cas was still smiling down at him, oblivious as to why Dean was suddenly shrieking and shoving his way up, nearly tossing the fish onto the sand in his haste.

            He grabbed them at the last minute, reminding himself that _sandy_ fish was going to be worse than regular fish, and besides that, Cas might not take too kindly to him throwing their food onto the ground. It’d give him the wrong idea, and Dean would rather Cas not think he wanted to _starve_ or something.

            Cas was staring at the fire again, one tentacle flat against Dean’s back to help him fully get up, even as he eagerly squirmed his way over to the flames. He was wary of the fire, had been since Dean had started it, and he never got too close, but he’d always stare at it with absolute fascination despite that. It reminded Dean of a child, enchanted by something so dangerous, especially to a creature of the water, and the thought made him smile again.

            “You ever had cooked fish before, Cas?” He asks, despite knowing the answer – if Cas had never seen a fire, of course he’d never had cooked fish. And besides, he’d looked disgusted when Dean mentioned cooking the fish earlier.

            And, sure enough, Cas was shaking his head and scrunching his nose up in distaste, hands twitching towards one of the fish on Dean’s lap. He grabbed it, fingers ripping into the skin before shoving pieces into his mouth, as if to prove his point – he didn’t need cooked fish, not like Dean did.

            Yeah. It was gross, and Dean was grateful for the distraction of the fire and cooking his own fish, so he didn’t have to look at Cas tearing into the still-staring raw one he’d laid claim to.

            He’s got a set up he’s hoping is gonna work – some stick’s he’s managed to stick in the ground, two longer ones spread out enough so that he can balance the fish above the fire. He’s hoping it’s enough where the fish won’t wind up catching fire, or burning, or whatever other problems he’s sure people have in these kinds of cases.

            He doesn’t know a lot about how to cook fish, especially not over an open flame like this, but he figures as long as it’s flakey it’ll be fine. And if he burns it, hey, at least then he knows he’s not going to get food poisoning or something. He can always try and eat the insides, hopefully those wouldn’t be charred beyond belief.

            He leans forward, quickly setting the fish down – okay, yeah, he realizes, maybe he’s put the sticks a little too close, as his fingers nearly burn when he’s trying to set the fish down, and he’s not so sure how he’s going to be able to get it back _out_ of the fire without seriously searing his skin.

            Cas lets out a chirp of disapproval, obviously not liking how close Dean has gotten to the fire, one fish-gut covered hand reaching forward to clasp at his shoulder, dragging him back. He tries to hide his shiver of disgust at the feeling of the cold, clammy meat touching his skin, the shoulder of his shirt and jacket torn through.

            He leans back, though, appeasing Castiel for the moment. He’s got time to kill, waiting for the fish to cook, and as he dares to look over at Castiel’s face, smeared with remnants of his meal, he wonders what Sam’s doing. Was he worried? Probably. Of course he was. He should be, right? They were brothers. They’d had a deal, way back when, when they first started hunting – no going after each other, seraphs weren’t worth the trouble. It was the one hunt that, if one brother went down on, the other shouldn’t risk his own life over. Would Sam follow through on that, would he even remember such an old promise?

            Dean would have ignored it, if it was Sam. He hates even thinking about his brother being taken by one of these creatures – even one like Castiel, who seems to bear humans no ill-will (and one of these days, Dean will find the courage to ask Castiel how many, if any, human’s he’s killed. He knows already he’s not going to like the answer, but it feels like something he just sort of…has to know. Dean is by no means an innocent man, he’s killed more people and things than he cares to remember, but he likes to remind himself that, for the most part, they’d all either deserved it or he’d had no choice. Seraphs killed _innocent_ _people_ ). He’d never stop, not until he had a body – and even then, he had no doubt, he’d kill himself trying to go after whatever seraph had dared touch his brother.

            He didn’t want Sam to do the same. Sam was his brother. He wanted to protect his brother, even when they were so far apart. He couldn’t protect Sam, not from here, but he could at least hope that his own stupidity wasn’t going to get his brother killed.

            And that brought up a whole new fear – would Castiel keep killing humans, now that he had one of his own trapped here at his cove? If Sam went into the water, would Castiel go after him, attack him, _kill him_? If he told Castiel about his brother…would that save him, would Cas understand familiar connections like that? Did seraphs _have_ families? Or would Cas just hear that Dean wanted to go to the mainland, that Dean had someone waiting for him and consider that some sort of challenge, a threat, and that would make him go after Sam on purpose?

            Something wet is trailing on his leg, forcing his eyes open – when had he closed them, he wonders, but he can’t remember – and he looks down to see Cas drapping a tentacle over his leg, prodding at him, trying to get his attention. He still has fish gut smeared on his face, and the apparently no-good discards are cast aside, right on the edge of the water. Pretty soon the water will lap close enough to carry the shredded remains away, and at least then Dean will have one less reminder of how…inhuman Castiel really is. He runs a hand over his own face, trying to see if Cas will get the unconscious cue to wipe his face off, letting out a huff of fond irritation when Cas merely stares back at him, cocking his head curiously.

            “Food?” Cas chirps, staring at the fire. He’s still got that look of disdain on his feature, like he can’t understand why Dean is ruining the perfectly good food he’d provided him with, but the curiosity and interest about the fire is there, too, and Dean figures at least Cas isn’t forcing him to eat the fish raw out of some weird mating custom.

            He leans forward again, jaw clenching as he reaches two fingers forward to press against the fish, the only way he knows how to tell if it’s done. He’ll have to be gentle – too hard of a press and he’s sure the fish will start to cave in enough where it’ll fall through the hole between the branches, and it’ll land straight in the center of the fire. There’ll be no saving it then, and while he knows Cas’ll probably get him more fish if he needs to, that might make the seraph try and convince Dean to try it raw. And ew. He’s not even a fan of sushi, let alone fish like this.

            Cas is chirping wildly again, the hand on his shoulder gripping tighter, and Dean half-expects to get pulled back. He knows if he winces or seems to burn himself Cas really will tug him away, so he keeps his face as blank as he can, even when the heat of the fire makes his skin sting and his eyes water. He’ll have to move the fish up, next time, find bigger sticks or something.

            He’s hoping the fish is actually done. It’s flakey, at least, although he can’t tell if that’s actually the fish or if his skin is starting to peel from the flames. Either way, he’s starving and willing to take his chances, so he bites his lip and grabs the fish between two fingers, holding back a hiss as he pulls it out of the flames.

            And then, promptly proceeds to nearly drop the damn thing, the heat of it quickly melting through his skin. He grabs at it with another hand, hot fish slapping against his palm, fingers quickly wrapping around it. He ignores the pain, sliding back away from the fire to compensate, Castiel happily helping to pull him away. He winds up half pressed against Cas, a mass of tentacles curling and tickling his back, suckers clinging to the back of his jacket.

            He picks at the fish, tearing the head off as quickly as he can and setting it on the sand beside him. He’ll do a lot to survive, but right now, eating fish heads sure isn’t one of them. Cas makes a sound, though, tentacle grabbing it off the ground as soon as it touches, shaking the slight bits of sand off of and holding it back out towards Dean.

            “Food?” He asks, waves the fish head in the air.

            “Uh,” Dean frowns, eyes widening as Cas jerks the head closer to him, nearly pressing it against his mouth. He leans his head back, eyes focusing on Cas’ inquisitive look instead, “humans don’t eat the heads.” He says, finally, figuring that, hey, Cas doesn’t know that people _could_ eat the heads, and this is the easiest way he can think of to explain things without risking insulting Cas. Cas still frowns, staring at the head before tentatively brining it closer to his own mouth, tongue darting out to lick at the frayed edges.

            He’s still watching Dean, though, waiting for something, so Dean forces on a smile and rips off a small piece from the center, dropping it into his mouth as enthusiastically as he can. He chews it, twisting the stringy meat around with his tongue before swallowing it down, slick meat heavy as it falls into his stomach.

            It’s unpleasant, but he’s pretty sure it’s been cooked well enough. He’ll get used to the taste, he knows, soon enough, but for right now taking another bite makes his stomach clench in distaste, the lingering flavor of fish coating his tongue.

            Castiel seems to relax, though, smiling at Dean and licking at his fish head, tilting his head as he takes in the flavor. When Dean swallows he seems to come to his own decision, sucking the edges into his mouth and sucking like a lollipop – Dean can see his tongue peeking out of his mouth as he bites at the meat, tearing off a chunk and swallowing it down hole.

            Cas lets out a trilling sound, catching Dean’s attention enough to make him stop picking off his next piece of dinner. He looks over at Cas, whose staring at the remaining fish with a look that Dean can’t even hope to describe. Cas’ blue eyes are wide, filled with…wonder, he guesses, and he quickly brings the fish back up and bites off another piece, practically moaning in pleasure.

            Dean can’t help but smile and chuckle as he looks at Cas. The seraph looks like a _child_ , a child who’s had their first piece of candy and has suddenly had a whole new world opened up to them. “Not so bad, huh?” Dean asks, popping another piece of fish into his mouth, chewing and swallowing mechanically.

            Cas turns his wide eyes onto Dean, making the hunter freeze just as he swallows down the only half chewed pieces. They hit the back of his throat painfully, nearly making him gag, but he refuses to break eye contact. Cas starts nodding his head enthusiastically, plopping the rest of the fish into his mouth and looking longingly at the remaining uncooked fish resting in one of his tentacles. Dean hadn’t thought to cook it, knowing he wouldn’t be able to stomach more than one now, and figuring Cas wouldn’t like his own cooked.

            But, apparently the seraph has discovered a taste for cooked fish, and, hey, who’s Dean to deny him? Besides, it’s much easier to watch Cas eat cooked fish than it is watch him tear into raw, leaky recently-dead fish, and he’s all for things that will make his life easier. He carefully unwraps Cas’ tentacles from around the fish, draping it over the flame.

            It’ll take a while to cook, though, and Cas is still watching it longingly. Dean knows he wants it cooked – figures, if he hadn’t, he’d have stopped Dean from placing it in the fire. And he’s already sure he’ll be a slow eater, by the time he’s done eating his fish’ll be cold and really disgusting.

            So, without thinking, he tears the fish in half and offers it to Cas, holding it over his shoulder so Cas’ can reach for it. Cas lets out a hum of confusion, gripping Dean tighter, so Dean waves the fish a little, mimicking Castiel’s earlier actions.

            “Take it,” he encourages, “seriously, we can split the last one, too, if it’ll make you feel better. No use making you wait for it to finish cooking – this fish’ll get cold, and you’ll be left hungry and waiting.”

            “You’re sharing your food with me?” Castiel asks, and Dean’s sure he can hear a hint of disbelief and a tiny bit of hope in his voice, but he pushes it off to the side. What, did Cas think all humans were selfish, or something, did he really think Dean was that big of a jerk?

            “Yeah,” he says, finally, snorting, ignoring the swell of relief flaring through him when Cas starts leaning forward. He figures Cas’ will take the fish with his hand, or, worst comes to worse, a tentacle, but instead he feels something wet brush across his fingers.

            He just barely manages to stop himself from jerking away, eyes widening as he watches Cas lean forward and grab the fish with his fucking _mouth_ , tongue lapping over Dean’s fingers as he pulls the fish in. Ofcourse, Cas couldn’t just take the damn food like a _normal_ person, of course he had to make things awkward as all hell when Dean was just trying to be _nice_ for once in his life.

            He manages to stop, though, and in the end he figures that’s all that really matters. His hand is practically frozen, hovering in the air long after Cas moved his head back, humming happily as he chewed on the fish. Dean squeezes his eyes shut and takes a few steading breaths. Sam used to tell him to count to ten when he was about to do something potentially stupid, and this...probably counted as a time during which Dean _might_ do something very stupid, and that could have some bad effect on him later on. So, he takes a few more breaths, eyes squeezed almost painfully shut, and counts as slowly as he can. He tries to ignore how the lack of vision really does make all of his senses seem suddenly stronger – he can hear Cas chewing and swallowing like it’s his own body doing the action, can feel his tentacles running along Dean’s back and sides and he’s pretty sure he can even hear the damn suckers popping as they run along his skin. It’s all making him _more_ uncomfortable, until finally he just decides to clench his jaw and _screw_ what Sam says, he can keep calm without some stupid therapeutic bullshit.

            “Cas,” he breathes out, slowly, carefully, eyes flickering open. Cas tilts forward, adjusting their position until blue eyes meeting green and Cas is practically the only thing he can see, and maybe it was better when Dean had his eyes closed, because Cas’ gaze is honestly more than a little overwhelming. He takes an aborted breath when Cas lets out a confused hum, and curses how the sounds are actually starting to _grow on him_ , damn it.

            “Dean?” Cas rumbles out, voice mimicking Dean’s, and that, _that_ , should not go straight to his damn dick, because Jesus, interspecies bestiality-like relationships were definitely on his list of ‘not hot’ things, and why isn’t his damn dick getting with the program. “What is it?”

            “Just-“ Cas flicks his tongue out, running against his lip, rumbling with pleasure as he chases the remaining taste of fish clinging there. “Nothing, never mind.” Dean sighs, leaning forward and quickly pulling the cooked fish out of the fire. Cas pulls him back gently, one hand rising up to grip along Dean’s chin, pulling his head back.

            Dean can see the disbelief there, knows Cas is being patient with him, that he wants to keep asking Dean what was wrong until he got a satisfying answer. But…he doesn’t have one. He can tell Cas that eating fish like that is creepy as fuck, and hey, yeah, that’ d be true, but he doesn’t think it really matters, in the long run.

            His plan _sucks_ , he realizes, because he doesn’t know anything about seraph mating. And he can tell himself that he’s gonna try and teach Cas, but in the end, all Dean is doing is teaching himhow _humans_ flirt and win each other over, and he’s not sure how helpful that’ll be in getting Cas a seraph mate. He’s just helping Cas figure out how to capture and successfully win over another human he’ll steal. So what’s he supposed to do?

* * *

 

He doesn’t understand how he’s been able to contain himself, how he’s been keeping the screech of delight from escaping into the air.

            Everything is just going so _well_ , he can’t _believe_ it; this is nothing like he’d thought it would be! Dean may be reluctant, but he was by no means uninterested! He was still excited over the nickname, and that had only been the _start_ of his good fortune – Dean had accepted his offering of food, he was even eating it while wrapped up in Castiel, letting the seraph hold him and keep him shielded and safe. He’d expected Dean to try and shrug him off, or to at least be tense, as he had been this morning, but Dean seemed to all but melt into his touches, relaxing against Castiel’s chest and letting Castiel move him around wherever he wants.

            Dean is the ideal mate. He’s perfect. They’ll be great together, once Dean accepts his courtship and they can mate together. Castiel will be able to mark him and officially claim him as his own. He can hardly wait.

            And he can’t imagine it will take that long. Dean had _shared his food with him_ , and _that_ …that was _unbelievable_ , he hadn’t even dared to hope that they’d reach such a crucial step in the courtship process. After all, he’d barely gotten started courting Dean, and yet, here Dean was, advancing through the steps faster than Castiel could keep up with.

            He could handle that. He’d just have to step up his own courtship process, so that he and Dean were on the same page. He couldn’t risk failing to impress his mate, not when they were doing so well. Of course, that was all great to think about…but what should he be doing?

            He hums in thought as he lets go of Dean’s chin. His mate was keeping something from him, and that upset him, but he didn’t want Dean getting mad at him so early in the relationship. It wouldn’t bode well for him, would set them back in the courtship. So, he’d let Dean have his secrets – once they were mated, _then_ that could all be done and over with. He could wait that long, surely.

            But Dean seemed nervous. He wanted to ease the tension from his body, but he wasn’t sure how – he knew how to massage seraph’s, but he wasn’t sure how that differed from humans.

            Dean’s playing with the fish, fingers curling around the middle and tearing. Castiel tries to ignore the rumble in his stomach – he hadn’t been sure how much food Dean would want to eat, and now he’s pretty sure he should have gotten more, because he’s still kind of hungry but he doesn’t want to take away any food from his mate. Dean’s needs come first. Castiel can wait until the next hunt to satisfy himself.

            Except when Dean tears the fish, he doesn’t go ahead to shove any of it into his own mouth. No, he doesn’t even hesitate – he leans back, tilts his head so that he’s looking at Castiel again, and holds the fish out, a few inches from Castiel’s parted lips. Castiel can’t help but gasp, a slight shrill making his body vibrate. It’s faint, barely noticeable, but with Dean pressed against him the human easily feels it. It makes Dean tense, just a bit, makes his eyes flicker down towards Castiel’s chest, his throat clenching as he swallows. But the food stays, Dean’s hand doesn’t so much as waiver, and Castiel finds himself leaning forward eagerly, grabbing the fish between his teeth. He lets his tongue flick out, just as he had before, tasting at Dean’s skin and humming in satisfaction.

            Dean had gotten jumpy the first time Castiel had done that, his entire body going rigged, but this time he seemed to just shrug it off as normal. Castiel was glad – he enjoyed this new feeding ritual between them, enjoyed having Dean feed him and enjoyed getting the chance to taste his mate’s skin. He wanted more – it seemed almost counterproductive, getting the vague and teasing tastes of his mate’s salty skin, tainted with the smoky cooked fish. He wants _more_ of it, he wants to taste more of his mate, see if it all has the same flavor. It’s the best thing Castiel has ever had the pleasure of consuming, and he’s only had such a _small_ sampling of it.

            It would be so easy, wouldn’t it, to just pull Dean closer and start lapping at him? The human hadn’t liked it before, but he hadn’t liked Castiel running his tentacles along him or running his tongue along his fingers at first. Perhaps this was just one more thing that Dean would have come to accept, now? Castiel was so much stronger, it would take nothing to pin Dean’s limbs down and have at him, bring them both pleasure in ways that Castiel’s mind had been plagued with since first hearing the human. It felt like forever ago, he couldn’t even imagine what his life had been like before Dean. Was there a before Dean? Of course there was, he knew there was, he’d built a nest, after all – but what had he _done_ , how had he survived all those years alone? His kind weren’t meant to be alone, though they were by no means pack creatures – they needed family, mates, _something_ to keep them sane.

            Castiel figured that was why so many had snapped and started killing. They’d never been peaceful, not by any means, but the humans had been intriguing and Castiel was sure if that one hadn’t tried to attack them, there would have been many more years of peace between their kinds. The seraphs were naturally curious creatures, much like humans, and many seraphs had, much like Castiel, found mates in the species. But once attacked…it had set off instinct, and then everything about the humans had just seemed _wrong_. They were volatile, they killed everything they touched, and the seraphs certainly would have been one more tally if they had managed to figure out how to kill them. And the humans didn’t take anything _seriously_ , especially mates – that had been the hardest thing, one of the seraphs had figured out human mating the hard way. Back during times of peace, when seraph’s had thought it better to keep human mates near humans (humans were so much more social, after all, they needed constant contact or they went crazy) – except that mate had done nothing more than betray, sneaking off and mating with another human before leaving the seraph entirely.

            Lucifer had never been the same after that. Castiel remembered his brother fondly, remembered how he’d shrill and screech and scream and would never leave the beach, convinced his mate would one day come back to him. And she did, eventually; when her new mate, in a fit of rage, murdered her and dumped her body into the ocean. He’d never loved her, he just hated the seraphs, wanted to cause them pain, and he’d found such a _good way_ – it was why, when the war first broke out, the first thing mated seraphs did was take their mates away, hide them somewhere no one would find them. Lucifer had been a harsh lesson for all of them as to how low humans would go to cause harm, especially when physical pain just wasn’t an option.

            He had no idea what happened to his brother. He’d mourned for days, refusing to let go of her body – Castiel remembered that, remembered his other older brothers, none old enough to leave home yet, trying to get him to let go of her, to bring him back home where they could take care of him. He’d refused, and one day he’d simply disappeared, and no one had heard from him since. Castiel had never much wondered what had happened to his many siblings – they were meant to leave home, seraphs were territorial, after all, it was just a way of life. But he often wondered about Lucifer, about whether he was still alive, where he was, what he was _doing_. He couldn’t imagine losing his mate like that – and that was before he’d ever met Dean, likely it was before Dean had even been _born_. Now that he actually had a mate…

            He would have responded just like his brother. No one would be able to take his mate away from him, no comfort could be given. Castiel didn’t think he’d be able to live with himself, to be very truthful, and that sent a fresh wave of sorrow through him. Lucifer hadn’t deserved that, he should have had a much better life. After that, with the war…humans were terrible creatures. They destroyed, betrayed, they had no loyalties, not even to their own kind. They were a threat, plain and simple, and for the most part none of the seraphs would so much as hesitate when it came to defending their territory. Castiel had killed his fair share of humans, all ones who had decided to take him on, who had swam too far out in the water for his liking. He’d even sunk a few boats, ones who had gotten too close to his nest, sinking them quickly and efficiently, oftentimes carrying the cargo containers with him, scavenging through to see if there was anything useful. There hardly ever was, but he’d kept them all the same, curious about the items purpose and meaning. It was one of the only ways to learn about the human world these days. They didn’t come out into the water as much anymore – some would dip their feet in, never deep enough to truly worry Castiel, although he knew some of his siblings had considered even meager infringes to be full blown threats. Michael had been the worst, taking Lucifer’s loss almost as hard as Lucifer himself – he’d started killing everything on sight, ripping people apart for sheer pleasure, to the point where it had started to _scare_ Castiel. He couldn’t say he was disappointed when Michael finally matured and left.

            He wouldn’t let anything like that happen to Dean. It was why he’d found a nest so far away, off the coast and out of easy sight. The island had been run down when he first found it, uninhabited, and after about a year most other sea creatures had learned the seraph had claimed it and had backed off. Other than the occasional boat, nothing ever came out here – and he hadn’t seen a boat in a long time, years. Even if humans were looking for Dean (and they had to be – how could someone like him just _disappear_ , after all, he had to have people looking for him) they would never be able to find him, not out here. Castiel would keep him safe from all harm, human or otherwise.

He sighs, mouth still wrapped around Dean’s fingers, and forces himself to move back. Soon. Dean will let him in, soon, he won’t have to hold back soon. For now, he could settle for holding his still-nervous mate, for sharing food and keeping him safe and winning him over. It’d all be worth it, in the end.

* * *

 

Dean doesn’t know how long they stay out there, but eventually he realizes the sun has gone down and it’s freezing. There are too many clouds in the sky, keeping the stars and moon from proving any light, and he’s pretty sure if he was alone he’d never be able to find his way back to the cave – the only light he has is from the fire, after all, and he’d stopped feeding it wood a long time ago. Now it’s barely going, flickering in a half-hearted attempt to stay alive. In a few minutes it’ll probably be nothing more than embers and the occasional spark. It’s also windy, though he can barely feel that with Castiel wrapped around him like he is, the harsh wind only managing to bite into his face, reddening his cheeks and making his skin feel numb.

            He’s not sure if Cas somehow can tell that he’s freezing, or if maybe Cas is getting cold himself, but it’s shortly after this realization that Cas starts fidgeting around, and Dean knows that it’s time to head back to the cave. He leans forward, ignoring the shrill of protest Cas makes in response, hands cupping together so he can toss some sand onto the dying fire. Cas humors him for a few moments before pulling him back, cocooning him once more as he starts trying to head back into the water, eager to get back to their nest.

            Of course, Dean has the feeling Cas hasn’t really thought this through – it’s hard enough dragging Dean when they’re both on land, Cas is just way too out of his element. Especially here, when Cas is on the fucking sand, and sure, most of him has been in the water the whole time but still, whatever parts have been on the sand have got to hurt. And he has the feeling Cas is tired, judging by the sluggishness beneath his tugs, like he’s hoping Dean’s too tired to put up too much of a fight tonight. And, hey, he’s right, Dean’s actually kinda exhausted and sleeping sounds like a fantastic idea right about now. Even if it is in that weird bed with Cas lying next to him – hell, maybe Cas’ll sleep in the water tonight, considering how long he’d been out of it today. It’s not like Dean could sneak off, really.

            He chuckles as Cas feebly pulls at him again, managing to drag Dean a little ways before huffing out a tired breath. Dean can’t help the fond look he casts Castiel, just like he can’t help but reach a hand up and tousle Cas’ already messy hair, running his fingers through the drying curls and tugging gently. Cas coos in response, pushing his head up into Dean’s hold, startling another laugh from the hunter. Cas is like a cat, all independent and shit but also super clingy and territorial with things that he, for whatever reason, likes.

            He starts trying to get up, ignoring how Cas tries to cling tighter to him, nearly making him lose his balance and fall. Cas stops once he finally figures out Dean is trying to be _helpful_ , trying to wade into the water so Cas’ll have an easier time getting them both back to the cave. Then he becomes all accommodating, loosening his hold enough so Dean can move his feet, shuffling toward the water and biting his lip to keep from hissing as the freezing water chills him to the bone. Cas drags him closer once he’s in the water, pulling Dean in until they’re pressed chest to chest again, tentacles wrapped securely around the soaked man. Before long they’re back at the mouth of the cave, Cas carefully lifting Dean up over the ridge and into the pool of water before climbing over himself. He lifts Dean up onto the bed, setting him down and diving under the water for a bit – Dean figures the poor guy’s gotta be dry, and could use the break from the harsh air. Besides, maybe that means he’s right and Cas is gonna sleep in the water tonight.

            For now he’s got a bigger problem to worry about. He hadn’t thought this through as much as he probably should have – the cave is freezing cold, though not quite as bad as outside, and with his clothes soaked to the bone, he’s shivering and his teeth are clacking together loudly. Except, he doesn’t really have anything he can _do_ about it. He can take off the clothes, hell, he’s probably going to have to. They’re so dirty and full of holes by now they’re probably not doing him any favors on, but Dean liked to at least think they made him a little warmer. Or, at least, they did when they were dry. Now he’s frozen, and if he keeps them on he knows he’s never going to get to sleep, and he’ll probably wind up getting sick – and Cas probably doesn’t know anything about human sickness, and it would suck to die from a cold or some shit all because Dean stayed in his soaked clothes all night. But if he takes them off, he doesn’t have anything to change into, so he’ll be naked and freezing. And that doesn’t exactly sound really pleasant, either.

            He doesn’t have much of a choice, though, does he? With a soft sigh he shrugs off his suit jacket, running his hands along the torn black material as he attempts to examine it. It’s too dark to see anything in here, and the cold water-logged fabric is making his numb fingers ache, so he grunts and tosses it to where he hopes the rocky side is. He doesn’t hear a splash, so he assumes he’s successful, and he proceeds to unbutton his shirt. It’s probably not necessary –with a few tugs he’s sure the whole thing will rip apart, but maybe this way he’ll be able to somehow salvage it for future use. He doesn’t know what he’s gonna do, otherwise, because he’s sure as hell not walking around the damn island _naked_ all the time.

            Cas comes up sometime between when he’s wrestling his arms out of the shirt, and Dean only notices because suddenly there are two glowing blue orbs staring him down, and that _definitely_ doesn’t make him shriek in terror and lose his balance and flail back onto the bed. Which definitely doesn’t lead to Cas squeaking and climbing up onto the bed, tentacles quickly wrapping around Dean and tugging him up, pressing the man into Castiel’s chest and holding him there as blue eyes rack over him. Dean’s arms are still stuck in the sleeves of his shirt, and he swallows hard before bending and managing to free himself, tossing the shirt into his pile of soiled clothes.

            Cas tilts his head at him, and Dean feels the need to justify his actions – he doesn’t want Cas to think he’s taking his clothes off for no reason, or for some _other_ reason, he figures.

            “It’s cold,” Dean says, “clothes are soaked. I’ll get sick.” And, yeah, okay, he probably could’ve settled with ‘clothes are soaked’ but instead he felt the need to ramble and now Cas is looking all concerned, eyes wide and still raking over Dean’s body, like he can somehow tell just by looking that some sickness is creeping into the hunter. Cas starts moving quickly, tentacles a flurry of movement that nearly makes Dean dizzy, tugging at his filthy white undershirt and his pants. Cas doesn’t care if he rips Dean’s clothing, Dean realizes, as his shirt is torn off of him and tossed haphazardly away. He can feel the button on his pants snap, and that finally spurs him into action – he’d really rather not ruin all of his clothes, after all, so he grabs one of Cas tentacles and gently tugs it off of him so he can finish, numb fingers fumbling as he unzips his pants and works at tugging them off.

            Cas doesn’t handle being reprimanded well, though, and Dean’s only just managed to tug him off when another tentacle takes its place, batting Dean’s hand away and tugging his pants down, thankfully a little gentler than before. He doesn’t know where they disappear to – he doesn’t hear anything, not them hitting the pile of clothes or falling into the water, and now he’s left in his boxers.

            His soaked boxers, damnit, but he really doesn’t want to take those off, especially not now, with Cas on the bed. He could still remember Cas feeling him up, could still remember the feel of suckers pressing down on his dick, and he’s really not up for a repeat performance, accidental or not.

            But Cas doesn’t seem willing to accept that, and before Dean knows it a tentacle has shoved under the elastic band of his boxers and is tugging them down past his knees, making Dean yelp, hands jerking down to cover his junk. It doesn’t matter that it’s dark – for all he knows, Cas can see in the dark, and he still doesn’t want _everything_ on display for a creature that’s still convinced Dean is its _mate_.

Castielhums, “What’s wrong?”

            “Those can, uh, stay on, man,” Dean chokes out, one hand daring to dart away from his junk, fingers curling around his boxers and tugging, trying to get them back up.

            “They’re wet,” Castiel says, one eyebrow arching up as he looks at Dean.

            “Yeah, but, it’s…cold.” Dean says, lamely, “I’ll get cold.”

            Cas shakes his head, smiling down at Dean softly. Dean swears he’s a minute away from laughing, and the entire thing is making him six shades of uncomfortable. “You won’t get cold.” Castiel assures him.

            “Uhm, yeah I will?” Dean responds, fingers tightening on the boxers even as Cas pulls them down further, getting them down around his feet. Another tentacle wraps around his ankles, and Dean knows in a few moments he’s going to lose this battle – Cas is getting his boxers off, even if he has to do all the work himself.

            “No, you won’t,” Castiel repeats, “I’ll keep you warm.”

            Dean gapes at him, body frozen in shock, and Castiel takes his lax fingers as an invitation to speed things up, lifting Dean’s feet up far enough so he can pull the boxers down the rest of the way. They get tossed away, disappearing from sight faster than Dean could hope to surge over and grab them back, and now he’s fucking naked with a seraph pressed down on top of him, his legs bent up at an awkward angle. He squirms, lips pressing together tightly as he at least tries to get his body back down against the bed.

            “That’s not really necessary,” Dean says, gulping. He looks longingly toward the water, hoping that maybe Castiel will take the hint and spend the night down there, away from Dean, where he won’t have to worry about stray tentacles brushing over parts of him that he’s apparently nearly lost all control over.

“Of course it is,” Cas snaps back, letting Dean’s legs fall back down, tentacles tightening as he starts to rearrange them. “You’re cold. It’s my duty as your mate to keep you warm. You don’t _need_ clothes, not now that you have me.” There’s a hint of pride in Castiel’s voice, enough to make Dean gulp again, eyes widening a fraction as he tries to go rigid in the tight hold. As if that would make a difference – Castiel was too damn strong, fucking seraphs and their ridiculous strength, if he wanted something he was going to get it.

            “Cas,” Dean says, slowly, trying to figure out the best way to go – there had to be a way to get Cas off of him without also fucking up whatever mating rituals he was going to need to find a mater later on, right? “I’m – I’m not really your mate, man, like I said before-“

            “Dean,” Castiel cuts him off quickly, almost desperately, a tentacle shoving up into his mouth and nearly making him gag. It’s effective, as Cas had found out earlier – as soon as the slippery appendage touched his lips anything he had to say had effectively died on his tongue. “Please. Just – Give me a chance, I promise, I can be a great mate.”

            Dean stares up at Cas, who stares back for a moment before he finally realizes the man won’t talk with his tentacle pressed up against his teeth like that. He withdraws, although only barely, and Dean knows he’s one wrong word from having it shoved back into place, and this time it’d probably just stay there until he finally fell asleep. He’s not really looking forward to that option.

            “I know you can, Cas,” he says, lowly, one arm fidgeting until Cas lets it up. He raises his hand up, fingers brushing along Cas’ cheek, cupping his face gently. Cas leans into the touch, eyes nearly fluttering shut, and Dean curses how completely unthreatening the seraph looks. How completely _human_.

            “We’ll be great together, you and I,” Cas breathes out. “I just wish you’d see that.”

            Dean doesn’t know what to say to that, and when Cas finally opens his eyes again he’s got this terrible _sad_ look to him. It’s the worst thing Dean’s ever seen – and made about a thousand times more upsetting by the fact that he knows he’s caused that look to enter Castiel’s eyes. He’s the reason the seraph looked so sad – fuck, he made a fucking _seraph_ depressed, creatures that weren’t even supposed to feel emotion. He really does break everything he touches.

            He pats Castiel’s cheek gently, fingers running along the length of his jaw carefully, trying to erase the sadness from him with careful touches alone. He’s going to have to go used to this, he realizes, because as more time passes on he’s going to keep breaking Castiel apart. He’s going to _ruin_ the seraph, and all with the hope that maybe he’d be able to pick himself back up, realize how inevitable all this was, and be willing to try again. It was cruel. And if he couldn’t’ handle this one sad look…how was he supposed to handle the look Cas would give him when he finally realized Dean was never going to be his mate, when he’d undoubtedly think he had failed in his courtship and failed as a mate? Thinking about it makes his head hurt and his stomach lurches, until finally he sighs and let’s his hand fall back down, ignoring how quickly Cas moved to wrap it up, one tentacle curling around, Dean’s fingers forced to cup the slick surface. He’ll get used to it, he figures, that’s the best he can hope for – and even if he doesn’t, he hopefully won’t have to deal with it for too long. When he gets back on the mainland he’ll drink until all of this is nothing more than a shadowy memory, a dream he can barely remember.

            “Come on, then,” he says, relaxing as Castiel finishes arranging him, slowly moving off of Dean’s body and tucking his body into him, tentacles covering him like a pulsing blanket, “let’s just go to sleep.”

            Castiel hums in response, nose nuzzling the top of Dean’s head gently, pulling Dean a little closer. Dean curses the fact that he actually is warm – as wet as Castiel’s tentacles were, they practically radiated heat, like his own heated blanket tucked carefully around him. He can’t see anything except Cas, can’t feel anything either, and while that should make every hunter instinct in him scream…he’s comfortable. He hasn’t felt this safe and warm and cared for since mom died, and that…that is gonna make leaving so much harder, he knows.

            But he’s a hunter. He’s used to difficult things. He can handle whatever this path gives him – even if it means going back to being alone and drunken one-night stands. That’s just his life, and there’s nothing he can _do_ about it. Somewhere out there is a nice little seraph who’s all alone, just waiting for perfect mate Cas to come along so that they can be together.

            Dean is just a stepping stone towards that path. And he’s okay with that. Really.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to say thank you for reading/commenting/bookmarking this story! I smile every time I get a notification, so thank you all for deciding to spend time on this!  
> I haven't actually finished my finals yet (one more paper between me and sweet freedom!) but I did promise an update tonight!
> 
> I got a few tumblr messages asking about the tags and suggesting a switch, so I've updated them. I originally had Stockholm Syndrome down because Dean is being kept here, alone, so there is a little uncertainty as to how much of his feelings towards Cas are real and how much are due to him being the only one around Dean. However, considering this isn't a dark fic (and I don't want anyone to think that it is/come here expecting it to be), I've removed the Stockholm Syndrome tag and added a slow burn tag. If anyone has any other recommendations/comments, please message me and let me know!
> 
> Otherwise, enjoy. I should be able to post another update this weekend, probably on Sunday.

Castiel hadn’t realized sleep deprivation was part of finding a mate – if he’d known, he would have spent much more time sleeping a few days ago, trying to stockpile as much as he possibly could. Over the past two nights, he’d barely slept at all. It was just too difficult – he didn’t want to take his eyes off of Dean, even when he knew the man was safely and securely wrapped in his tentacles. It wasn’t just that he was nervous – although that surely was a part of it, he felt like if he fell asleep he’d wake up and find that all of this was nothing more than a dream, that Dean was the perfect mate only because that was the figment his mind had conjured up. The problem really was, though, that he found Dean fascinating. He wanted to watch the man all the time, memorize every feature, every freckle and wrinkle on his skin, the scars that littered him and the bruises that would hopefully slowly fade, replaced by ones Castiel left behind.

            He liked seeing his markings on his mate. It was as close as he could come to mating marks, at least for right now – so he had stayed up late last night, after he was sure Dean was asleep, to tighten his grip and leave as many impressions on the skin as possible.

            Now it was morning, and Dean was just starting to stir. Castiel had been awake for what felt like forever, eyes raking over Dean’s still form, assuring himself that his mate was okay and smiling as he nuzzled into short brown-blonde hair. He had wanted to inspect Dean before he woke up, but something about it felt _wrong_ – if Dean was asleep, how would he know how seriously Castiel was taking his responsibilities? He’d just have to talk to Dean through the process, calm him down and keep him from squirming around too much, so that he could finally get a thorough inspection done.

            And, now, finally, Dean was starting to wake up. His body stretched out, as much as Castiel’s hold would allow, shoulders rolling back with a slight crack that made a flare of panic course through Castiel – was his body _supposed_ to make that sound, or was something wrong? He _needed_ to know, needed to finally look his mate over, like his instincts had been demanding since he first found the man, and if Dean was already waking up…

            It’d have to do, he knew, because he couldn’t even think about waiting any longer. He flattened Dean onto his back, smiling at the surprised huff his mate let out, Dean’s eyes blearily blinking open, peering up at Castile first with panic and then with curiosity.

            “Morning,’” Dean drawled out, shoulders rolling back again, popping once more. Castiel decides to start his inspection there, tentacles running along, wrapping as tight as he could and applying pressure – not enough to hurt, but just enough to check the muscle underneath. He didn’t want to leave marks, not during an inspection, so he had to be careful with how he treated his fragile mate.

            Dean tensed up underneath him, eyes narrowing as he tries and fails to get up. Castiel gives him a tut of disapproval, pressing down a little harder, trying to keep his mate still – it would make things that much harder if Dean insisted on moving around, and he was already impatient to check him over. “What are you doing?” Dean asked.

            “Just relax,” Castiel coos back, trying to keep his voice soft and calming, though Dean doesn’t seem to relax at all.

            “ _Cas_ ,” Dean hisses, “what are you doing?”

            By now, Cas has managed to go past Dean’s shoulders – they’re fine, whatever sound they made was apparently natural, or in the very least hadn’t left any lasting damage onto the muscle. Now he was tracing down the man’s stomach, over his ribs and abs, well-built muscles that bulged as they tensed up over Castiel’s careful prods and pokes. He’s already eager for Dean to be used to this, for when he can take care of their morning inspection without so much of a fight.

            “I need to make sure you aren’t injured,” Castiel says, finally, running down Dean’s arms, tentacles twining with the human’s fingers, pulling them apart and flexing them playfully. His hands reach up to frame Dean’s face, fingers rubbing along freckled cheeks, one going back to cup the back of Dean’s neck, palming at the area carefully.

            “You could just ask,” Dean points out, cocking a brow. He’s relaxed, albeit only slightly, heaving out a tired sigh. Was he still tired, had he woken up too early? Castiel was exhausted, but at the same time he was entirely tired of the bed. He wanted food, wanted to start on today’s courtship – he hasn’t even decided what he’ll do yet, but it’ll have to be something great if he wants to keep impressing his mate.

            “It’s my _job_ ,” Castiel insists, “you don’t tell me, Dean, I’m supposed to know.” He doesn’t mean for it to come out as…well, whiny, as it did, petulant and certainly not dominant seraph like at all, but he’s tired and why doesn’t Dean understand what he’s supposed to be doing, here? What do humans _do_ , if Dean is so reluctant about nearly _everything_? He pushes the thought to the side, focusing instead on his mate’s body. He has so many bruises, scars littering his chest, cuts that…look like they’re from a weapon, actually, like someone had _attacked_ him. Had the vampire harmed him, before Castiel had gotten there, was that why Dean was so angry?

            “Where did you get these?” Castiel growls, running a tentacle over a particularly bad cut, looking moments away from being torn open and starting to bleed again. Dean swallows, eyes glancing down, though he can’t move his head enough to see exactly where Castiel is focused.

            “Uh,” he grunts out, tongue darting out to wet his lips, “around?” he laughs, softly, nervously, and Castiel feels a rising growl force its way out of his chest.

            “This is no laughing matter, Dean,” he surges forward, until their faces are barely apart, breath huffing out onto Dean’s face. His mate looks panicked, and rightly so – Castiel is moments away from blood thirsty, he wants to tear apart everything that had ever touched his mate, everything that had dared to hurt him. “Who gave you these?”

            Dean’s restless, now, shifting about and flexing, trying to get Castiel off of him, but Castiel will not be deterred- this is _crucial_ , this is about his mate’s _safety_ , and he will not have it passed off so lightly. He’s let Dean have his own way many times, let him keep things from him and hide his thoughts, but _this_ will not be tolerated.

            “Dean,” he hisses out, again, voice going lower with every syllable, “ _answer me right now_.”

            “You’re, uh, kinda creepin’ me out, now, Cas, just settle down-“ Dean chokes on the end of his sentence, as Castiel shoves down on him harder, forcing out a startled gasp.

            “ _Answer me!_ ”

* * *

_Shit_. That’s all Dean can think about, running on repeat, his mind chanting out a litany of curses as he takes in Cas’ absolutely _livid_ face, eyes dark and narrowed and lips curled down in a fucking _snarl_ , looking like he’s about to _kill_ someone. And when Dean’s the only person here – yeah, he really doesn’t like that look, doesn’t like what it’ll probably mean for him.

            “Cas, you gotta loosen up-“ He tries, again, breathes coming in as shallow gasps. Cas is too much on his chest, too much of his weight pressing down on him and it’s honestly starting to _scare_ Dean, though he’ll never admit to that. Cas growls at him again, and Dean knows he’s not going to stand a chance unless he tells Cas what he wants to hear – except he doesn’t know exactly what that _is_ , and he has the distinct feeling that telling Cas he’s a fucking _hunter_ is the worst possible answer he can give right now.

            But Cas is just way too much on him, and Dean’s pretty sure he’s moments away from passing out – he needs to calm Cas down and fast, and the only way that’s going to happen is by offering up _something_ and hoping that it works out. “Work?” Dean squeaks out, unable to get out more than a barely-heard whisper with so little air in his lungs.

            Cas doesn’t look happy, still glaring down at him and holding him too tight, “what sort of _job_ ,” Cas hisses, “would result in so many bruises?”

            Dean swallows, again, uselessly trying to squirm – if he could just get Cas to loosen up a little bit, he’d be able to really _breathe_ , and maybe then he’d be able to think about how to handle this situation and come up with a plan that would _help_ him. Cas won’t move though, Dean hasn’t given him enough to settle him down.

            “I, uh…save people? Protect them?” He tries, casting a pleading look at Cas – maybe he’ll stop asking, maybe Dean won’t have to explain to a _monster_ that he hunts and kills supernatural things for a living.

            “Save them from what?” Dean curses internally, because of course Cas couldn’t just leave things alone, of course he wouldn’t be satisfied until he’d dragged out everything he could possible want from Dean, willingly or not. At least Cas looks less angry, more intrigued and, yeah, more than a little skeptical. Dean can understand that – it’s not hard to tell that these marks are from something bad, they weren’t the wounds a fellow human would be able to hand out. Cas may not have a lot of experience with people, and he may not have a lot of clues about their strength, but he’s sure as hell not an idiot and Dean knows he can tell that some of these are from knives and some are pretty damn deep claw marks.

            “You know, bad stuff. Stuff they need to be protected from.” If Dean could face palm…yeah, he would be, right now, because that sounded a lot better in his oxygen-deprived brain than it did out loud. And Cas is definitely angry again, tentacles tightening terrifyingly more than before, and he’s pretty sure if Cas so much as moves Dean is going to wind up with a few broken ribs and one tug would definitely break his arms or legs.

            “ _Dean_ ,” Cas growls out, “ _stop being foolish_.”

            Dean shuts his eyes, “come on, man, you’re smart. You saw the vampire.”

            It’s deathly quiet for a minute, long enough for Dean to crack open one eye, peering up at Cas tentatively.

            Cas, whose eyes had, at some point, shuttered shut, his breath coming in heavy gasps, like he was trying to calm himself down, palms rolling against Dean’s shoulders. His grip was loosening, though, and now Dean could actually take a full breath of air, which he did, greedily breathing until his head started to feel dizzy.

            “You’re a hunter,” Cas mutters, “you’re – you-“

            “You _willingly_ threw yourself into reckless situations,” Cas is still muttering, and without his eyes peering down at Dean, he doesn’t know if he’s supposed to respond or if Cas is just rambling to himself. Either way, he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say, so he’s staying quiet.

            Cas finally opens his eyes, Dean nods, opening his mouth and shutting it again just as fast. Cas doesn’t look quite so murderous, although there’s still a flare of hostility in his eyes, a fire that hasn’t quite gone out, and it’s enough to make Dean uncomfortable.

            “You understand that’s over, that you’re _never_ to do anything so – so”

            “Hey, Cas, take a breath, man,” Dean jokes, forcing out a nervous laugh. That seems to be enough to finally shake Cas out of the angry cloud he’d been living in, and now his eyes are watery and he’s looking down at Dean sadly.

            “I scared you.” Cas comments, one tentacle rubbing carefully, gently, across Dean’s cheek.

            “Nah, I wouldn’t say-“

            “I’m sorry.” Cas whispers, “but Dean, you must – you need to understand, you, throwing your life around so carelessly like that…it’s unacceptable. It certainly won’t happen again; if I so much as _think_ you’re planning on something so _stupid_ , I will tie you to this bed and you will not leave this nest.”

            Dean’s eyes widen at the threat – _promise_ , his mind supplies, sensing the honesty in Castiel’s tone and getting a rising sense of dread from it, “you aren’t serious?”

            “I am completely serious, Dean, I will not allow any harm to come to you, and that is final.”

            “Dude, you know I can’t promise that.”

            “Why not?”

“Seriously? Because I said so, because I get into shit all the time and I’m sure as hell not going to start babying myself now. I’m not stupid, man, I know my limits.”

            “Dean,” Cas growls, again, “this isn’t open for discussion. You will not endanger-“

            “No, you know what? Fuck you. Get the hell off of me, Cas, you don’t even know me, you sure as hell don’t get to suddenly control my fucking life and make all my choices for me. Screw you.”

            Dean is thrashing, now, though his movements are barely noticeable with Cas’ still-strong grip, and he knows he’s being more than a little reckless and he’s full of shit. He’s all talk, and there’s no way Cas doesn’t know that – Cas can easily follow through on his threat, there really wasn’t anything Dean could do. Hell, if Cas wanted, he could keep Dean alive for as long as he wanted, he could take every choice Dean could ever hope to make away from him, and there was very little Dean could manage to stop him. So maybe empty threats and pissing the seraph off weren’t his best ideas in the world, but then again, he sure as hell wasn’t going to roll over and just _take_ all of this, just let Cas think he could walk all over him just because he was stronger. He’d put up a fight, he’d be annoying as hell, like a true Winchester, because in the very least then maybe he’d feel somewhat better and more in control of the situation.

            “Dean,” Cas’ eyes have gone wide, his tentacles are now pulsing gently, and his hands reach back up to frame Dean’s face again, forcing his head to still and ensuring constant eye contact. Which only serves to piss Dean off, because he’s fucking _angry_ right now, he doesn’t want to see the glassy look Cas’ eyes have, the way they’re panicked and watery and definitely different from the dark glare that Dean had been fearful of only moments before. “It’s okay, calm down-“

            “Get _off_ of me, right fucking now, Cas,” Dean snarls back, wincing when he tries to jerk his arm up, pain shooting through him as Cas unwittingly grips down tighter, desperate to keep the human trapped underneath him. Cas loosens up almost immediately, a high-key shrill escaping him as he recoils, eyes locked on Dean’s arm, on the fresh bruise swelling into place. It’s one of many, a little darker and angrier looking than the rest, but maybe that’s just Dean’s imagination. Cas is looking at it like it’s the worst damn thing in the world, the tentacle that had caused it hovering over the skin, like he was dying to reach down and run over it and assure himself of the damage first hand.

            Dean snarls again, grunting and glaring at Castiel, pleased when the seraph finally starts to back off, tentacles loosening before ultimately falling away, trailing down Dean’s body and settling around his legs, still slightly wrapped around his feet and ankles.

            “Dean,” Cas tries, again, voice soft, “I’m _sorry_ , I’m not asking you to change, I’m asking you to-“

            “I know what you asked, Cas!” Dean snaps back, “now for fuck’s sake, just _leave me alone_. Get off, go swim or whatever it is you used to spend all your damn time doing, just stop being here!”

            “But-“ Cas is pleading, now, starting to lean back over Dean, and Dean yells without thinking,

            “ _Go_!”

            It’s loud and echoes in the cave walls, carrying back to him so he can hear just how harsh and cruel he came off as. He knows he should feel bad – he probably will, later, when he’s cooled down and had some time to think, but right now all he wants is to be alone, to not have Cas leering down at him and acting like Dean was nothing more than some doll that he could manipulate however he liked. Besides, before he had a true chance to even think about taking back the words, Cas is whimpering and crawling off of him, suckers clinging listlessly to his skin, like Cas was forcing himself not to grip on tighter and ignore Dean. He probably is, Dean realizes, and the thought makes him feel a little smug – he, a human, had apparently just managed to command a fucking seraph, and if he wasn’t still really pissed at Cas the thought would probably make him happier.

            Cas sinks into the water with a splash, fingers curling in the bottom of the bed as he peers up at Dean one last time, before heaving out a sigh and propelling himself out of the cave. Dean purposefully doesn’t look at him, instead staring at the ceiling, lying on his back with his hands crossed over his chest, taking in as many calming breaths as he can.

            Maybe Cas won’t come back. Maybe Dean will have finally done it, finally pushed the seraph too far, and maybe this is when Cas will realize that they weren’t supposed to be mates. Dean will be left here, and he’ll have to try and figure out some way off the island – maybe Cas will come back, just for that one last thing, maybe he’ll realize that he kinda owes Dean, and he’ll take him back to the mainland himself.

            He ignores the pang of sadness in his stomach just as determinedly as he forces his eyes not to stray from the ceiling, keeping his focus on the cracked surface long after he knows Cas has gone.

* * *

 

He hadn’t realized how hard it would be to leave – he had managed to leave Dean before, of course, when he went hunting, and it hadn’t been nearly as difficult then.

            Then again, then it had been necessary. Then he had been in relatively good standing with Dean, then he hadn’t thought anything was wrong, he was hopeful and felt like he was heading towards the fast track of courtship. How had things changed so horrendously fast, how had he so quickly lost favor with his mate?

            He’d never seen Dean so angry. It had killed him inside, knowing that he had caused such a strong negative reaction – and what’s worse, he didn’t know _why_. What had he done to get Dean so furious with him? He’d been _concerned_ , he just wanted to keep Dean safe – what was wrong with that? That was what he was supposed to be, what nature had _programmed_ him to do, keep his weaker, submissive mate safe from everything, keep him sheltered from the world and make sure nothing ever got close enough to harm him, even if that included his risk-prone mate himself. Did humans not care, did they _like_ pain and suffering, just like all the seraph stories thought?

            The other human mates Castiel had met hadn’t been like that, though. Although, he’d only met them briefly – the fighting had made all mated seraph’s especially hesitant and paranoid, to the point where even family was cut off. The risks were too high. Castiel had been insulted by it, before, but…if his family came over, he couldn’t say that he’d willingly let them into the cave and near Dean. It’s not that he didn’t trust them, but all the same, he didn’t trust that something bad wouldn’t still manage to happen. The world was a dangerous place, and seraphs themselves were dangerous creatures – he’d rather not have Dean exposed to any of them, trustworthy or not.

            He supposed that didn’t matter right now, though. He could figure out what he did wrong later. Right now, he had to figure out how to make things right, and fast. He couldn’t stand the thought of Dean being mad at him, for however short a time it may be, and he hated to think how far back this might have set them.

            Besides, it was midmorning, heading into early afternoon. Dean was going to need to eat soon, and if he was mad he might not want Castiel to come back into the cave, and he certainly wouldn’t come out to start the fire and eat. His stupid mate would try and starve himself, and there was nothing Castiel could do about it. He could force Dean to eat, sure, but he had the feeling that right now that would make Dean hate him _more_ , and they would never be able to be mates if Dean kept looking at him with anger and hostility flaring in his eyes. He was a seraph, a strong and capable creature, able to do nearly anything he put his mind to…and yet, here, he was completely and utterly powerless, forced to bend to the wills of his human mate, who was potentially determined to continue hurting and endangering himself. Where was the fairness in that?

            He sighed, blowing bubbles out into the water and watching listlessly as they drifted up, hovering briefly on the surface before softly popping. He hadn’t been able to go far – he was just out of sight, right now, beyond the lip of the cave, but only barely. He’d submerged himself into the water, that way if Dean did look out he wouldn’t be able to see him, but if Dean so much as said his name he was close enough to hear and swim over faster than the human would be able to change his mind. He wanted to go home. He wanted Dean wrapped back up, in his sight and reach, where he knew he was safe and there was no cause to worry. Out of sight Dean made his heart clench up, even when he knew the man was relatively safe in the cave – Dean couldn’t do anything without Castiel knowing, not when he was so close, if the man was in any sort of danger he’d get there and save him.

            But that did him no good. He didn’t want to save Dean, he just wanted the man to be happy with him again, and he was no closer to figuring out how to do that.

He sighed, again, tilting his head and listening carefully – had that been Dean, calling him? No, he realized, just the hiss of the wind, not his mate, ready for him to come home so they could talk about this and make things right.

            Even if he got back, Castiel realized, how was he going to stop this from happening again? He was willing to back down on a great many things, but this was definitely not one of them – he would not have Dean endangering himself, not now that he was with Castiel, where he should be safe. The whole point in taking Dean away from the human world was to keep him out of harm’s way! Not to mention, Castiel didn’t know what he’d do if something did happen to his mate, whether it be minor or…worse, major, something that _took_ Dean away from him _forever_. He’d die too, one way or another – he could hardly handle being such a short distance away from his mate, let alone never seeing the man again.

            He couldn’t let that happen. He’d have to convince Dean, somehow, that his way was the right way, and that Dean should just _accept_ it and let Castiel take care of and protect him.

            A fish swam by him, failing to give the proper amount of girth, its scaled body brushing just barely against one of Castiel’s tentacles. Before he knew it he’d snapped around the tiny thing, holding it so tightly it snapped apart, segments held together by the strong grip he had on it. He released it, watching as the two parts he’d managed to rip it into floated apart from each other, drifting off into the sea.

            Normally he’d have consumed both pieces – no need to waste food, after all, and this fish had been stupid enough to get too close to a dangerous creature, so it’d deserved to die. This time, he let the fish parts drift further and further away from him. He didn’t want them, even though he was undeniable hungry. He wanted cooked fish, wanted Dean to prepare his food and share with him, feeding each other like they had last night. It was so much better than he’d ever thought it would be, he could understand why humans insisted on cooking their food now, it gave it such a nice taste, unlike anything Castiel had ever had before.

            Dean probably wouldn’t share his food again tonight, though. Castiel would have to eat his own raw fish, by himself, while hoping that his mate wasn’t stubborn enough to refuse to eat.

            The sun was still reflecting off of the water, which meant Castiel hadn’t been gone nearly as long as he thought he’d been – which is a shame, really, because it felt like he’d been gone _days_ already. He glanced over at a school of fish, swimming around in their large group, steering away from him carefully. Not carefully enough, not _far_ enough, though, and he doesn’t even have to move to snag four of them, tentacles darting out and wrapping around their middle, much more careful this time. He held them tight enough to keep them from escaping, despite the way they flopped about in his hold, desperately trying to wrench themselves away and towards freedom. The rest of the school has disappeared, darting off in a variety of directions, and Castiel wonders if they’ll ever be able to find each other again, or if he’s just permanently broken up this group. He brings one fish up to his mouth, contemplating eating it right now to try and settle his churning stomach, before shaking his head and heading back towards the mouth of the cave. He’d let Dean pick first, try and get Dean to eat first. If Dean didn’t eat….he wouldn’t eat, yes, that would have to work. If his mate was going to starve himself, Castiel would join him, because he refused to live or even try and be happy if his mate was not. His stomach clenched at the thought, rumbling angrily, reminding him that he was already hungry, and he really hoped Dean would give in and just accept the fish, because as willing as he was he really didn’t want to have to starve himself and let these fish go back into the water.

            He’d probably kill them in frustration, actually, if Dean refused to eat – those little fish weren’t going anywhere, they’d reached the end of their short lives.

He made it back to the entrance of the cave before he realized the fatal flaw in his well-intended plan. It did no good to offer Dean food that he could not eat – it would only motivate the man to refuse it. It would encourage him to starve himself, and if Castiel was trying to make things easier…

            He sank back down in the water, grumbling in frustration, fighting against the urge to take out his irritation on the tiny fish he had trapped. They were still wriggling about, trying to escape him, although their struggles were growing fainter – he always wondered whether they just grew to accept their fate, or if they were simply exhausted from the effort they’d already exerted.

            He knew how to start a fire. Kind of. He’d watched Dean, anyway, for all but the few short minutes he’d been sent off on errands. It shouldn’t be too hard to figure it out, although he’d been hoping Dean would be there to assist the first time, make sure he was doing everything right. But, if he couldn’t have that – certainly starting a fire, maybe even cooking the fish, that would all go a long way to making Dean happy again, right? That would show him what a good mate Castiel could be, would apologize for whatever he had managed to do wrong without actually going back on his position, which he still refused to do. Dean simply couldn’t hate him, not if he managed to figure this out.

            That was motivation enough, though it still left him with problems – for one, what did he do with the fish while he tried to gather the needed supplies? He refused to let them go back in the water, pent up anger making him want them to suffer just as he was. If he didn’t get to be happy with his mate, he wasn’t going to let these fish go off and be happy with their own families. That wouldn’t be fair. Besides, then he’d need to hunt down more, and while that probably wouldn’t take long, he didn’t want to risk the fire going out while he was hunting. It’d start the whole cycle over again, and it certainly wouldn’t impress Dean.

            He could try and slip them into the pool inside the cave, without Dean noticing. But he’d have to be quiet, or the man would hear him and get angry with him again, and Castiel didn’t want Dean to see him until he had everything set up. But…if he put the fish into the cave, he’d have to go into the cave to get them, and odds are they wouldn’t all congregate around the lip and make things easy for him. He wouldn’t be able to offer Dean cooked fish, if that was the case, as Dean would undoubtedly see him.

            He could…leave them on land? As long as he was fast, it should be fine, and nothing else hunted around this area, anyway, so it wasn’t like anything would steal his food. He could brush the sand off before he cooked them, and hopefully everything would be fine. That would have to work.

            Mind made up, he swam back towards the fire pit, thankful that the basics were already in place. The hole Dean had dug was still there, and the rocks surrounding it were still in perfect position. He’d need more sticks and grass, though – had Dean added anything else, before he’d lit the fire, or was that it? He wracked his memory, depositing the fish to the side of the pit, far enough away from the water where they wouldn’t be able to flop their way back in. Not that he was worried, honestly, because even as he set them down they barely moved – they were nearly dead, he had the feeling he could have released them back into the ocean and they wouldn’t have made it very far.

            Now, he knew, came the hard part. Dean had told him that the sticks, grass and leaves all had to be dry – he hadn’t let Castiel gather any of it, much as he wanted to, because he’d have gotten it too wet to be used. Except he was pretty much always wet, and how was he supposed to get everything together without soaking it through? He huffed out a sigh, reminding himself that he had to figure this out; he couldn’t cave in and go ask Dean for help, that would defeat the whole purpose of this. He was a seraph. He could start a fire. It shouldn’t be a problem for him.

* * *

 

Dean sighed and dragged his fingers along the side of the cave wall. He was still lying in bed, reluctant to get up, his side aching from the too-long continuous pressure and his legs practically begging him for some form of exercise.

            He should really get up. He’d been meaning to ever since he kicked Cas out – meaning to get out of the cave, go look around the island again, and check out the other side he’d missed exploring before. Maybe he’d get lucky, maybe there was something over there that could help him get out of here. A crashed boat or something he could fix up without Cas knowing, and then he’d just take off and hope for the best. Hope that another seraph wasn’t around, that Cas wouldn’t notice he was gone until it was too late, or that maybe Cas just wouldn’t care anymore, and would _let_ him go.

            Of course, he knew deep down there wasn’t going to be a boat over there. That’d be crazy and fortunate, and if there was one thing Dean didn’t have, it was clearly luck and fortune. He wouldn’t be stuck in this stupid situation if that wasn’t true.

            He’d been listening carefully, straining his ears to try and pick up any sound, no matter how soft. He hadn’t expected Cas to stay away this long, and he wanted at least some kind of a warning before the seraph came back. He was still pissed, and he’d be damned if he let Cas off easy. He wasn’t _changing_ for anyone, least of all a fucking seraph, and besides that, just because he was human didn’t mean he needed to be protected and taken care of like some damsel in distress. He was a hunter, for god’s sake; he was perfectly capable of taking care of himself!

            He’d make sure to piss Cas off tonight, maybe that’d get him sent home early or something. He’d sleep on the rocks, as far away from Cas and the water as he could get, hell, maybe he’d sleep outside in a tree. That way there was no way Cas would be able to get to him and blanket him like he was apparently fond of. And yeah, sure, it would suck because trees weren’t comfy and it was cold outside, but at least he’d get the dim satisfaction of seriously pissing Cas off, and he’d get to watch the seraph squirm around on unfamiliar territory.

            He groaned as a fresh wave of hunger coursed through him, his stomach reminding him that he hadn’t eaten anything since last night, and he was definitely getting close to running on empty here. Sleeping wouldn’t be an option at all if his stomach kept growling like this – he wouldn’t even get the joy of watching Cas freak out when he couldn’t find him, his stomach would give away his position like a bright beacon of light.

            He didn’t know when he’d decided Cas was going to come back. At first he figured the seraph definitely wasn’t, that Dean had pissed him off so thoroughly he’d decided mates sucked and had left to go be on his own again. But the more time passed, oddly enough, the more Dean decided that wasn’t true, and now he was beyond certain Cas’ idea of them being mates was far from being over. He would come back, like he always did, and Dean would have to be ready to stand his ground.

            He stretched his limbs up, finally moving into a seated position on the rocking bed, arms cracking as he stretched them up over his head. He laced his fingers together and smiled as they, too, cracked, satisfaction coursing through him and almost temporarily overriding the hunger pains.

            He needed food. Except he had no idea how to _get_ food. He hadn’t seen anything growing on the trees, and he wasn’t sure he would trust that food source even if he had – how was he supposed to know what was poisonous and what wasn’t, after all, and it would suck to die from bad fruit, wouldn’t it? But that was really his only option – he didn’t have anything to fish with, and he had the feeling if he entered the water Cas would probably come back, thinking he was trying to drown himself or something, and if Cas came back he would insist on getting food himself, and Dean didn’t want anything Cas had to offer him. He could get his own food, thank you very much, he didn’t need the help of a stupid seraph to keep himself alive.

            He’d just have to figure something out, though. If he got a branch, maybe he could stab them or something? He was pretty sure he’d seen people on those survivor reality shows do that, not that he watched them, and if they could do it it couldn’t be that hard, right?

            He sighed as he got up, wobbling a little on the bed – one day he would learn not to stand until he reached the rocks, but obviously today was not that day. He kept his arms extended for balance, teetering his way towards solid ground and sighing in relief when he made it over without falling. The last thing he wanted was Cas to come swimming back in an attempt to save him and expect that to make everything better between them.

            Another growl from his stomach echoed in the dim cave, and Dean groaned in pain and annoyance. It would be easier to figure out how to get food if he could actually hear himself think – and at this rate, the fish would probably fucking hear him and know to keep their distance.

            Besides, despite how hungry he was, he really wanted to look around the cave a little more. He hadn’t gotten a chance to, before, and even when Cas had been desperate for his approval he’d done little more than a quick glance over. He was curious to see if there was anything interesting in here – certainly there must be, Cas couldn’t have spent his life here without something cool, right?

            At first he didn’t see anything, just dark walls with hints of moss growing on them, climbing up towards the high ceiling. It was spacious, Dean had to admit that, and the walls seemed to echo everything – the water bubbling seemed louder than before, and he was pretty sure he could even hear his own breathing repeating back at him. It was uncomfortable, to say the least, so he tried to push the realization out of his mind in favor of walking around the rocky ledge, eyes tracing the ground in search of something, anything, interesting he could fool around with.

            Eyes on the ground turned out to be a pretty bad idea, actually, because even with them looking down he still managed to miss the sudden lump on the ground, nearly tripping and landing flat on his face. He managed to shove his arms out just in time, palms hitting the floor with a hard smack, wincing as he hoped Cas’ hearing wasn’t _that_ good. His eyes were scrunched shut, though after a few moments with no tell-tale splashing, he decided his incident must have either passed without notice or Cas was well and truly over him, and didn’t care if Dean fell and died.

            Whatever. It wasn’t like it mattered, wasn’t like it was any skin off Dean’s nose or anything. Who cared if he hurt the seraph’s feelings, he’d probably be welcomed home as a hero if the rest of the world found out. He’d be Dean Winchester, the guy who made the unkillable blink, the guy who restarted the efforts to reclaim the ocean – And, yeah, alright, maybe he didn’t actually want that to be his legacy, but it sure as hell beat Dean Winchester, formerly FBI’s most wanted, killed on the run, didn’t it?

Tentatively, he opened his eyes, blinking a few times as he waited for them to adjust to the low lighting so he could see what he’d managed to stub his toe on. He frowned when he realized what it was – a seashell? Propping himself up so he could sit, one hand reached out and scooped it up, fingers rubbing along the smooth surface. He couldn’t see very much of it in the dark, but even in this low lightening he knew the surface was colorful, shiny, and well-cared for. Cas had obviously fished it out and polished it, there was no way something in the ocean could stay so clean otherwise – there wasn’t even a grain of sand on it. Dean frowned, setting it back down and letting his eyes rack over the ground, curious to see if there’d be any more – and yeah, right there, a little ways in front of him was a _mound_ of something.

            He crawled forward, mindful of his bare skin scrapping against the ground (clothes, he thought, he really needed to find where his clothes had been tossed, but he had the feeling he’d picked the wrong direction for that). Sure enough, there in front of him was a massive pile of shells, various colors and sizes, all well-polished and cleaned off. He chewed his lip absentmindedly, curious about the collection, and fought back the urge to reach out and examine a few of them up close. He had no idea what they were, if they had some kind of meaning to Cas, and it seemed wrong to mess with them when they could be in some sort of significant order that Dean couldn’t ever hope to replicate.

            Besides, there were better things to do, as his mind saw fit to remind him, as a slight chill made his body shake and tremor. Clothes. He needed his clothes back. Torn and tattered as they may be (and, more than likely, bone-chillingly cold), they’d still be something to cover himself with. He sure as hell wasn’t going to go around nude, after all – he wasn’t hunting naked, and he didn’t want to still be naked when Cas finally decided enough was enough and came back inside.

            He knew, vaguely, where he’d tossed the clothes he’d managed to get off, so he ambled his way over there, feet shuffling and dragging along the floor in a vain effort to keep himself from tripping again. He’d gotten lucky the first time, though his wrist ached from the strain and he had the feeling the slight pulsing pain in his knees meant he’d at least bruised them. He didn’t want to see if his luck would hold out a second time – it probably wouldn’t, after all, he’d probably either fall in the water or break something.

            He bent down when his foot kicked against something decidedly soft, his still-wet jacket and button-up shirt bundled up together. He smiled when he realized that some of it was actually dry, but that smile quickly faded when he realized most of it wasn’t – most of it had been so bunched together, it hadn’t gotten enough air to even hope to dry, and it was now stiff, cold and damp. It was going to suck to put it on, he knew, but beggars couldn’t be choosers, and right now this was really his only option. He just needed to figure out where Cas had tossed the rest of his clothes and he’d be decent enough to start thinking about next plans, like how to get food and what his chances were for somehow miraculously swimming his way back to the mainland before Cas (or anything else) managed to find him.

            He straightened up and kept walking as he pulled on his shirt and jacket, buttoning them up as best he could. His numb fingers tripped over the tiny buttons, and he managed to rip another one off before the task was finished – the shirt probably looked weird as hell, now, half the buttons torn off and other pieces frayed and falling to pieces under the lightest of touches. He bunched the jacket up a little more, trying to get it to cover more of his chest, figuring that would at least take away some of the weirdness, but the heavy material was too cold, goosebumps rising up on his skin in protest, and he soon abandoned that plan. It’s not like it mattered, there was no one here to see if he looked like a hobo anyway.

            His feet kicked against something else – boxers, thank god, and these were actually _dry_ , jesus, maybe there was a God after all, because no way was Dean looking forward to putting freezing cold material up against his junk. He pulled them on, hopping dangerously toward the water, and nearly tripped up as one foot landed on his discarded pants – at least he found them, he thought, even if they did almost _kill_ him. He dragged them on, too, frowning when he remembered Cas had ripped the button off of them, preventing him from actually fastening them on. He didn’t have a belt, either, didn’t know where it had gone off to, because he was pretty sure he’d put one on before he left that morning, so he’d have to hope for the best with the pants.

            He stretches out again, trying to rid his clothes from the stiffness being left to dry in a damp cave has afforded them, when his eyes catch on a collection of shadows he’s yet to investigate. They look like crates of some sort, he thinks, as he gets closer, running his hand along the sides of them. They’re stacked up, some over his head, though the wood doesn’t feel as damp as everything else in the cave – they’ve been left alone for some time, he reasons, Cas must not use them.

            He realizes with a cold sense of dread what that must mean – these weren’t Cas’, then, of course not, seraphs wouldn’t have wooden boxes like these. These were old, some of them had been eaten away at, the wood rotting and growing moss – these were from humans, probably stolen off of ships before they sunk. Cas had stolen them, Cas had taken down ships and left with their cargo, stuff he didn’t even _use_ –

            Dean doesn’t know why it shocks him so much. Cas is a seraph, of course he’s killed people before, he knew that already. It’s just…being here, now, it’s so much harder to pretend that Cas was different. Now he had proof, right in front of him, that no matter how the seraph may act he was still the monster Dean had been warned about. The deadly monster that stole and murdered with no sense of regret or mercy. It makes his stomach clench up, and if he had anything in his stomach right now he knows he’d be vomiting.

            He needs air, needs it _now_ , fresh air that will clear the thoughts out of his head and the sickness out of his throat. And he needs space, even if it’s just sand and water, he needs to just…not be _so_ trapped, not have walls surrounding him, reminding him of how utterly _screwed_ he was. Cas took down _boats_. Boats and the people inside of them, people with families and lives, he’d just ripped them away and _for what_ – and Dean’s just one more, really, no matter how Cas may see it Dean is just one more human torn away for a seraph’s amusement, and here he was getting closer and closer to trusting the damn guy.

            He stumbles out of the cave, bare feet singing on the hot sand and making him stumble a little. A nasty taste is chasing up his throat, a thick feeling following it, and Dean forces himself to swallow it down, willing his stomach to settle. He thinks about falling into the ocean, letting the cool water lap at his skin and hopefully shock him back into coherency, but at the last minute his mind reminds him that Cas is out there, Cas will hear him, Cas _won’t understand, will he_ , he’ll never understand. He doesn’t want to deal with that, not right now, he just needs space –

            He glances over at where the fire pit was, a dim sense of satisfaction flooding through him when he realizes the pit and rocks are still in place. He hadn’t been sure how high the tide would be, and had been more than a little afraid the entire pit would wind up being washed away and he’d have to start from scratch every single damn day.

            He straightens up and narrows his eyes, glaring against the sun as he looks over at the area – there’s something new over there. He steps closer, not quite daring enough to actually get into sight. He doesn’t know what’s waiting, after all, if it’s something that could actually _hurt_ him-

            But no, he realizes, it’s just fish. A few of them, bunched together and laid carefully down onto a rock. They’re no longer moving or flapping at all, just lying there with their mouths wide open and their large eyes bulging out. It disgusts Dean, but he pushes the thought away in exchange for the hungry pangs from his stomach. He’s hungry, and he has no idea how the fish _got_ there, but does that really matter? Don’t look a gift in the face, or whatever the saying was, he wasn’t going to turn down the sudden gift of food that had been bestowed upon him.

            He’s heading over to it, figuring he should at least make sure the pit is dry before getting his hopes up, when he hears a faint splashing from around the corner, out of his line of sight. Before he can think he’s darting back into the protective area of the trees, where he knows very little can get to him – not seraphs, anyway, and that’s what’s concerning him right now. Cas had mentioned other seraphs coming by, before, and he really didn’t want to be the guy who was trying to steal a seraph’s food. Cas hadn’t tried to kill him (yet) but he doubted another seraph would bestow upon him that same level of courtesy.

            He doesn’t bother climbing up the trees this time, remembering Cas’ harsh words and response, instead just kneeling down in a bush and doing his best to hide himself. It doesn’t really matter if he’s down low right now, if it was a seraph and it saw him he’d have enough time to manage to climb up one of the trees and from there he’d be reasonably safe. Cas had already demonstrated that of all the gifts seraphs had, the ability to climb was not one of them.

            He looks back over when he’s convinced that he’s safely hidden, and winds up having to shove nearly his entire fist into his mouth to keep the laughter from bubbling out of him. It was a seraph, yes, that much was true – though not some random one, no, this was just Cas, heaving himself onto the hot sand near the fire pit, a collection of what Dean hoped and assumed were meticulously handled dry branches and twigs and leaves in his arms. He’s cradling them carefully, cautious even as he lets them tumble out of his grip and onto the beach, where he proceeds to comb through and try to replicate what Dean had done with much more ease last night.

            He watches Cas, unable to tear his eyes away from the amusing sight – he’s lined the pit up with leaves and twigs already, fingers carefully poking them into place, tentacles kept a safe distance away, and now he’s stacking up the logs and branches, just like Dean had shown him the night before. He has to admit, at least Cas is a fast learner – he’d expected the building process to take much longer, or for Cas to forget about some crucial part.

            He kinda wishes Cas’ face was to him, so he’d be able to see the look of absolute concentration he knows must be on the seraph’s face, but instead he has to contend with the seraph’s back, hunched over as he leans over the fire pit, still glistening with a faint amount of salty ocean water, quickly drying from the heat of the sun.

            He’s perfectly content to sit and watch Cas work, kinda amused by the realization that Cas is going to finish and either cook the fish or go into the cave looking for Dean, either way, he’s eventually going to realize the hunter has left again, and while that wasn’t _really_ funny, it was hard to not want to see Cas in some kind of pain right now. Dean didn’t want the man to suffer, but at the same time...he kind of did, he wanted Cas to know that he was mad and he couldn’t think of any way to express it that the seraph would understand, besides manipulating him into some sort of emotional pain. And it was wrong and cruel and definitely not what he should be doing to the guy he wanted to bring him back to shore alive and healthy and with all his limbs intact, but Dean’s never really been the type to do what he _should_ be doing, anyway.

            His contentment only lasts until he watches Cas struggle with lighting the damn thing. He should have known that this would be the hard part, he can’t even see what Cas is doing but he can tell from the tension in his back and the impatient curling of his tentacles that he’s quickly growing frustrated with the task. Shortly after, a faint sound fills the air, an irritated hissing that Dean _knows_ is Cas, with a low growl underneath. He bites on his knuckles to stop from laughing, carefully shifting as he makes his way out of his hiding place. He doesn’t want Cas to hear him, not yet, so he’s mindful of every step he takes, shuffling along as quietly as possible.

            He wanted Cas to suffer, but maybe he doesn’t have to wait that long for it – watching the seraph grow irritated over what he no doubt deemed a ‘simple’ task was satisfying enough, and Dean knew Cas would be beating himself up over his perceived failure far longer than he’d be annoyed at Dean’s repeated disappearance act. It’s actually far better than he could have hoped for, he thinks, as he takes the last few steps before he’s within arm’s reach of Cas.

            He leans down, barely breathing as he balances himself so he doesn’t fall face first into Cas’ back.

            “Need a hand?”

            Then he really had laughed, couldn’t help it, couldn’t even hope to keep it in him anymore – Cas had looked so damned startled, whirling around with wide eyes to stare at Dean. A tentacle had swung out and wrapped around his legs, a reflex defense Dean guessed, as for a moment it was painfully tight until Cas recognized him and loosened up automatically.

            “Dean,” Cas breathed, lips curving up in a smile, and Dean’s smiling back before he can catch himself and remind himself that he’s still _angry_ at Cas, no matter how stupidly endearing the damn seraph was being. “I-“ Cas stops, bites his lip, and looks over at the fire pit, where he’d stacked up wood but otherwise been unable to do anything. He looks down, ashamed, and Dean fights back the next bout of laughter threatening to spill out of him. Cas feels bad enough about the fire, the last thing he needs is Dean being a dick about it, angry or not.

            “Yeah, I see you’re already well on your way,” Dean says, carefully, figuring Cas didn’t know how long he’d been watching anyway. He’d give the seraph as much credit as he could, all things considered, and they could get the fire started and food cooked. “I’d hate to leave you to do everything by yourself, though. Want me to finish up?”

            That seems to be the right thing to say, because Cas looks back up at him and he’s smiling again, nodding his head enthusiastically. “If you want to.” Cas says, already moving out of the way so Dean can get closer to the pit. The tentacle around him stays in place, woven between his legs loosely, enough of a presence so that Dean knows it’s there without it actively hindering him.

            He leans down into the sand, ignoring how his wet clothes seem to pick up clumps of it, and inspects the fire pit. Cas has done a pretty good job, for a creature soaked all the time – he’d carried the wood carefully enough where it hadn’t gotten all wet, and Dean was pretty sure it’d be useable. If he hadn’t come over, Cas may have eventually managed to figure out how to start the fire on his own.

            As it is, it doesn’t take long for Dean to get the smoke to start rising, and before long a tiny fire is burning in the center of the pit, slowly getting bigger and warmer. Cas pulls him back, tentatively, and Dean’s oddly grateful – at least Cas knows better than to think everything was all suddenly well and good again.

            His next problem is how to cook the fish. He knows better than to try last night’s method – that had nearly singed his damn fingerprints off, and useful as that may be in his line of work it was also painful and not an experience he really wanted to go through again. But he hadn’t had time to look around for bigger sticks, which left him kinda limited.

            He remembers, vaguely, cooking marshmallows once back when he was a kid, poking a stick threw them and holding them over the flame until they cooked. It took forever and more often than not he remembered it catching fire completely or turning into a gooey mess that fell off the stick and into the fire, but the few that had made it out of the inferno had been well cooked and delicious. If it worked for them, maybe it’d work for fish, too, he’d just have to be patient and careful?

            It beats getting his fingers singed, anyway, and if the first one doesn’t work he can always go back to the old method. He picks up a stick from the wood pile Cas had brought over and grabs one of the dead fish, biting back a grimace as he shoves the stick through the damn thing and twists, trying to make sure it won’t fall off the second Dean turns it wrong. It seems pretty steady, though, so he holds it tentatively over the fire, not quite sure how far was far enough. He has the feeling Cas won’t respond well if the stick catches fire, and he could do without a panicked dick of a seraph tonight.

            “You’re cooking it different,” Cas points out, waving a tentacle at Dean’s extended hand. He’d shifted closer, carefully so, like he thought he could slowly make his way into Dean’s favor and plaster himself against Dean’s side. Dean moves away in response, dragging himself a few inches away from Cas and huffing at the slightly pained sound Cas made.

            “I like my fingers,” Dean jokes, wincing when he realized a joke like that was probably destined to go wrong. Cas just stared at him, gaze hard and uncomfortable, tentacles curling as they still fought to stop from reaching out to him. “’sides,” Dean says, quickly recovering, “this means you can learn to cook, too.” He balances his own stick between his legs as he reaches for another, staking another fish and holding it out for Castiel to take.

            The seraph looks intrigued but more than a little worried, fingers hesitantly wrapping around the stick. He tugs it out of Dean’s grip but doesn’t move to hold it over the fire, instead twirling the fish around and inspecting it carefully.

            “Careful it doesn’t fall off,” Dean says, and Cas looks down, admonished. He stops moving the fish, instead holding it carefully in front of him. Dean sighs, moving to grab hold of his own stick again, lifting it a little out of the fire to inspect the fish. Not done yet, but it looks like it’s at least cooking, so that’s a good sign.

            “Just – hold it in the fire, Cas. Not too far in, or it’ll catch, but enough where the heat’ll be able to _reach_ it, man.”

            Cas bites his lip, carefully learning forward and holding the fish up a few inches from the flames. He looks at Dean, tentatively, and Dean just shakes his head. He can’t help but laugh again, ignoring the slightly crestfallen look Cas gives him in return.

            “Closer. See how mine is?” Cas nods, moving his fish down so it’s level with Dean’s. “Good, there we go. Just keep an eye on it, make sure it doesn’t fall off, and when it starts getting flaky looking it should be good to take out, okay?” Another nod, this time ending with Cas looking determined at the fire, eyes staring down the fish like it’s his new life mission.

            Dean chuckles again, too low for Cas to hear, and leans back. At least he can relax now, he doesn’t have to worry about that unwavering look being focused on him anymore. Between the crackling fire and the crashing waves he’s actually feeling pretty damn relaxed – it’s like camping, almost, except his camping trips had normally ended with hunting down a Wendigo. Not that he’s complaining –it’s still nice, not having to worry about stuff like that, though he knows he’ll get bored and start missing it soon enough. Especially when he has no one to talk to, not even Cas right now – and especially when he’s still worried about Sam, about what he may do. At least if his brother knew he was alive, maybe he’d feel better. As it was, Sam could be planning some sort of death mission and Dean would have no way of knowing or stopping him. He couldn’t protect his brother –and if he couldn’t do that, what good was he, really?

            “Dean?” Cas asks, a tentacle prodding him on the leg. Dean jerks in response, away from the probing tentacle and Cas shrinks down, sadness clear in his suddenly closed off features. “Fish?” He looks at the fire and, sure enough, his fish is beyond flakey and had been drifting too close to the center for comfort. Pretty soon and it would have been on fire. He huffs out a breath.

            “Thanks, Cas.” He pulls the fish out, watching the steam rise as it meets the cooler night air, and waves it a bit, hoping to cool it off faster. After a while he gives up, propping the stick up in the sand and leaning the fish against the rocky cliff, wondering if he should get started on another. He’s hungry, but he has the feeling once he starts eating that feeling will pass, and he’s not sure he wants to bother wasting effort on something he’s not gonna eat.

            Although Cas is probably always hungry, and whatever Dean doesn’t eat Cas is sure to. It’s not like the cooked fish would go to waste. He prepares another one, holding it over the flames while he waits for his to cool down enough to start eating.

            “Dean?” Cas asks again, and this time Dean snaps back without thinking,

            “What, Cas?” Cas bites his lip, looking down again, and Dean tries to force a gentler expression onto his face.

            “You’re mad at me.” Cas says, like that should explain everything. Dean stares at him. Yeah, no shit, was Cas just getting that _now_? Was there some hidden question in there that Dean was missing, or was Cas just stating a fact, had he really only just started to understand that Dean was unhappy?

            He really doesn’t know how he’s supposed to answer that sort of stupid question – is it even a question, really, he’s still not sure on that – so he does the only thing he can think of. He stays quiet, watches the fire and the fish and hopes that his first will cool off pretty soon so that he’ll have a viable reason for not talking,.

            It’s not that he thinks it’ll do any good – he’s going to need to talk to Cas again eventually. Especially considering Cas is the only English speaking thing on this damn island, and Dean’s really not game for going insane just to maintain his pride. But that doesn’t mean he has to play nice right now. He’s still angry, and Cas hunting and trying to start a stupid fire won’t change that.

            Cas sighs, too loud and deliberate for it to be anything but exasperation, and Dean glares at the fire. Stupid seraph, acting like _Dean_ was the one being unreasonable when really all of this was because of _Cas._ Cas who was clingy and possessive and demanding, even though he didn’t even _know_ Dean. Cas, who thought he could just kidnap any human he wanted and then they’d bend over backwards to change and make things easier on him. Cas, who apparently had no fucking clue how life worked, and even though Dean had sworn he’d try and teach, he was starting to think maybe Cas was just unteachable. Or he was a crappy teacher. Either one, he was just tired and annoyed and over the whole ‘help the seraph be happy’ route. Screw Cas, he just wanted to go home.

            “Dean,” Cas tries, again, and Dean stares steadfast at the fire, even when Castiel’s hand reaches up to grab his shoulder, gently tugging to try and get Dean to turn towards him. “Talk to me, please,” Castiel begs, leaning forward and into Dean. The stick he’d been holding was quickly transferred to a tentacle, and after a moment another one winds around Dean’s stick, carefully but determinedly tugging it out of his hand. Dean’s fingers curl, flexing in the air with the lack of anything to hold on to, anything to distract and amuse himself with.

            He wants to keep staring at the fire, but Cas apparently won’t let that happen. The hand on his shoulder carefully moves up, fingers splaying out to grip his cheeks and force his head to turn. He’s met with wide blue eyes, slightly wet with unshed tears – can seraphs cry, Dean wonders, watching as Cas blinks, the tiny droplets never making it down his face –

            He has no right to look at Dean like that, no right to look so damn _wounded_. No right to go about trying to make Dean feel bad, when he hadn’t done anything fucking wrong to begin with. He didn’t even want to _be here_.

            “There’s nothing to talk about,” Dean snaps back, trying to pull his head away and waving an arm impatiently at Cas.

            “I’m _sorry_ ,” Cas huffs out, “let me-“

            “You don’t even know why you’re apologizing!” Dean spit out, “damn it, Cas, how far does this have to go? When will this stop being worth it?”

            “You will _always_ be worth it, Dean,” Cas hisses out, “you’re my _mate_ -“

            “Fuck, Cas, just because you say that doesn’t _mean_ anything! That’s not how humans work, man-“

            “Then _how_ do you work? How do humans recognize their mate, Dean, what do I have to do?”

            “We don’t _have_ mates, Cas, that’s not-“

            “But you do! You have children, you mate, you _must_ have mates! Just _tell me what to do and I’ll do it_!”

            “For fucks sake, we do not have _mates_. Yeah, sometimes humans get married and settle down and shit, but that’s because they’re _in love_ , not because of any obligation or shit like that.”

            “In love?” Cas parrots back, tilting his head curiously. His hands are still grasping Dean’s face, keeping him from turning away like he so desperately wants to. “How do you do that?”

            “How do you fall in love?” Dean chokes, of course Cas would just _ask_ something like that. Jesus, how was he supposed to even answer that? What did he know about love?

            “I-“ Dean swallows, closing his eyes, “I don’t know, man, do I look married to you?”

            He’s startled into opening his eyes when Cas actually growls, “you better not be.” His grip tightening as he drags Dean closer.

            “Woah, relax, not married, chill out,” Dean says quickly, eyes darting over towards the fire. The fish are flakey – thank god, perfect timing, “Cas, the fish,” he says, weakly.

* * *

 

Cas sighs as he releases Dean and pulls the fish out of the fire. He props them up, much like Dean had done to his, before settling his attention back onto his mate.

            He just doesn’t _understand_ , and it’s bothering him far more than he knows it should. In love? Marriage? How was that any different from being mates? Why was Dean making things so difficult?

            Unless he was lying, and he really was married. To that guy on the beach, the one that’d tried to chase after him, the one who’d been yelling and trying to fight for Dean. What if that was a challenging ritual, what if Dean had already been courted by someone else and that was why he was being so reluctant? He couldn’t be Cas’, not until he was free from his present obligation. If Castiel chased him down, fought him and defeated him, then Dean would be free. He would stop fighting their courtship. He would be _Castiel’s_. And all he had to do, the only thing that was blocking him, was this one stupid, weak human who dared to try and reach for something he had no hopes of ever obtaining.

            He just had to find the man. Perhaps, if he asked Dean, Dean would tell him? He certainly couldn’t be _happy_ with whoever this human was, he was just withholding himself from Castiel out of some sense of loyalty and obligation. He’d be grateful, ecstatic, even, that Castiel had figured out what was keeping them apart and how to solve the silly problem.

            “Dean,” He says, slowly, watching as the human swallows and reaches towards the cool fish he’d cooked. He pulls it down onto his lap, tugging it off of the stick as he ripped it into strips, taking the head off first. He tosses the fish head at Castiel, still not looking at him, instead staring steadfastly at his lap. “Who was on the beach with you?”

            “You mean the vamp? No clue, man, I just hunt ‘em, I don’t really go for full backstories.”

            “Not the vampire, Dean,” Cas growls out, “the human. The one who was shouting to you, the one up on the cliff edge. Who was he?”

            Dean falters, gulping loudly as he swallows down a piece of fish he’d managed to shove into his mouth. He looks up at Cas, eyes wide and timid, and all at once Castiel feels certain that yes, this is right. This is what has been keeping Dean from him, and now he’s closer than ever to finally getting his mate. If he takes care of this false mate, frees Dean from this unwanted relationship, then he’ll surely be forgiven for whatever he’s done wrong.

            “Why?” Dean asks.

            “Because I asked.” Castiel responds, catching himself quickly when he sees Dean’s angry glare, knowing that the flare of emotion in him meant the human was gearing up to fight again. “If someone else is courting you, I deserve to know.”

            “Courting me?” Dean gags, coughing violently, and Cas has a tentacle wrapped around him before he can think about it, massaging his back and trying to ease whatever has made him respond so horribly. “You think-“

            “The man on the beach obviously knew you. He tried to take you from me. If he’s courting you, and that’s what’s keeping you from me, just tell me so I can take care of things. Then we can move on, start things the way they should be.”

            “Take care of things?” Dean parrots back.

            “Fight him. It is customary for dominant seraphs to fight off other potential suitors for their chosen mates. Is that not how humans do things?”

            “Fight – Jesus, fuck, Cas, _no_. He’s not courting me, shit, that guy was my _brother_ , you’re sure as hell not _fighting him over me_.” Dean is angry now, and Cas can practically feel his certainty slipping away.

            “You’re lying.” He says, uncertainly, “this is what’s been keeping us apart, this must be-“

            “Dude, that’s not what’s going on here. That guy is my brother. He was shouting because we’re _family_ , and he thought he was about to watch me fucking die. He’s sure as hell not what’s keeping us apart, or whatever, that’s got nothing to do with him. And let me tell you, you so much as _touch_ him and I’ll do whatever it takes to kill you. That’s my little bro, you sonuvabitch, and I’m not standing by while you try and kill him just because you can’t get out of your stupid little fantasy world.”

            Cas looks down, fingers curling around the fish head, nails digging into the meat and tearing. Wrong. He’d been wrong, he’d messed up _again_ , and now Dean was _really_ mad at him.

            If Dean’s brother wasn’t what was holding him back, what was? Maybe there was still another mate? Someone _besides_ the man he’d seen, someone who hadn’t even been there when Dean was in trouble? But…that was unlikely. Dean would have told him when he’d asked about the courting –although he’d been so mad about the brother thing, maybe he wouldn’t have. Maybe now he was thinking that that other mate really was better than Castiel, because at least _they_ didn’t unintentionally threaten to kill his family. It was an _accident_ , though, and how could Dean hold that against him?    

            There had to be something he could do. Some method he hadn’t tried yet that would have Dean desperate for him, he just had to figure out what it was. Seraphs were so much easier, Castiel thought, so much more straightforward. A submissive seraph would just _know_ that the dominant seraph knew whether or not they were mates, they would trust them and listen to them and they’d be mates before the day was up. Humans were complicated, they required so much more and there were so many steps between meeting and mating.

            Maybe his brother would be able to help? Perhaps he’d know be able to offer courtship advice, and with his help Castiel would be able to convince Dean that he was the best choice of mate! If he could find his brother and talk to him, everything else would work out. It would have to.

            “Your brother-“ Castiel starts, tongue darting out to nervously wet his lips. Dean shoots him a glare, quickly making him falter.

            “Stop. Just eat your damn fish.”

            “But-“

            “Cas. I said stop. My brother is off limits, you got that?”

            “I won’t hurt him, Dean,” Cas says, petulant, frowning at his mate, “he’s your _family_. I understand that, now-“

            “You literally _just_ threatened to kill him, Cas, you honestly think I’m gonna buy you’re all of sudden over it?”

            “I’m not some _monster_ , Dean, I wouldn’t just kill him.” Cas’ eyebrows knit together, trying to determine what’s got his mate suddenly uptight, muscles tense and body hunched over, like he’s waiting for Castiel to…to hurt him, or something, but that’s ridiculous. He’d never hurt his mate, Dean must know that, of all things.

            “Yeah? Coulda fooled me.”

            Castiel jerks back, feels his tentacles suddenly curl in on themselves in defense. What…what was that supposed to mean? His stomach clenches painfully, the fish head he’d been tearing up dropped and forgotten onto the sandy beach.

            “What…what are you-“ He tries, tripping over the words, eyes widening with every desperate breath he takes. He’s trying to control himself, control his breathing, he doesn’t want to scare Dean although it seems like it may be far, far too late for that.

            Too late now, he’s realized what his problem really was. Dean was _afraid_ of him, somehow he’d managed to scare his mate and now it was all painfully clear. No wonder Dean didn’t want anything to do with him, no wonder he wanted to get away from him and didn’t trust him. He thought Castiel was a threat, thought he was going to hurt Dean and his family, thought Castiel was some kind of vicious monster. Couldn’t he see that the humans were the true threat, if anyone was going to hurt Dean it was going to be his own people. Especially once they found out he was mated to a seraph – that seemed to anger them. He couldn’t let them hurt him.

            “Not a monster? Man, who the fuck are you kidding? What, all those people that had died, you trying to say you guys had nothing to do with that? They ripped themselves apart? Sunk their own ships? And you –“ Dean’s face is red, bright and flushed and starting to shine with sweat, his body heaving with heavy breaths that he keeps trying to suck in, though from the rushed slur to his tone Castiel can guess that he’s having trouble keeping air in his lungs. He wants to lean forward, gather Dean up and comfort him, hum to him until his breath evens out and he’s calm again, but if he goes anywhere near the man he’s afraid he’ll get scared again. “I saw the fucking crates, Cas. Those are manmade, came off a fucking boat. So don’t tell me you don’t _hurt_ people. Don’t you fucking lie to my face.”

            Castiel jerks back, tentacles spasming and eyes widening. “They were a _threat_ ,” he tries to explain, because surely if Dean _understood_ that these people would have found his nest, would have ruined everything, he’d see that Castiel had only hurt the people who had truly deserved it. “They were in my territory and-“

            “Your territory?” Dean scoffs, “the whole damn ocean doesn’t belong to you guys. You took down fuckin’ _cargo_ boats, man, they just carry shit from one place to another. There was no one and nothing on there that would have done _anything_ to you.”

            “They were human, they _kill_ , all of them are a threat-“

            “I’m human,” Dean interrupts, “am I a threat, too? You plannin’ on killing me, just waiting for my back to turn?”

            “Of course not!” Castiel exclaims, “you’re my _mate_ , you aren’t a threat-“

            “Neither were any of them, but you fuckers didn’t bother to stop and think about that. Jesus, it’s not like there’s anything humans can do to you, anyway, there’s no reason for you to take the ‘strike first’ approach.”

            “I couldn’t allow a potential threat near our nest-“

            “You really just don’t get it, do you?” Dean says, huffing out another heavy breath. He tosses the fragments of fish to the ground and brushes off his pants, moving to stand up. Cas has a tentacle wound around his ankle before he can stop himself, a loose hold but more than enough. Dean jerks, kicking and failing to get Castiel to let go of him.

            “Get what?” Castiel asks.

            “You kill who knows how many people, and you just – you don’t get why that’s even _wrong_ , why it would fucking bother me. You’re no better than the shit I hunt, man; you’re just harder to kill. Damn cockroach of the ocean’s all you are.”

            “Dean-“ For once, Castiel’s voice fails him. He’d planned for a lot of difficulties, once he found out his mate was human, but this wasn’t one of them. What was he supposed to do? Dean was right, he had no idea what was wrong or how to fix it. He’d been protecting their nest from intruders, keeping other people from coming into a sacred area, and how was he supposed to know which humans were murderous and which were less inclined?

            “Don’t. Screw off, man. Take me back or don’t, I don’t even give a shit anymore, but get let’s get one thing straight and through your thick fucking skull – I’m not your mate. I don’t care what you think, what you do, what you say, that’s never going to change. Starve me, kill me, whatever, man, but this is never going to be anything more than a kidnapping. And I’ll never feel anything more towards you than fucking hatred.”

            “Dean, _no,_ ” Castiel insists, suddenly surging forward, tentacles wrapping tight around his mate. He knocks Dean over, cocooning him and keeping him safe from falling onto the ground, quickly covering him, fingers stroking through his hair and across his cheeks. “Please, you don’t, you _can’t_ mean that, I need you, I’m sorry, I’ll fix things, I swear-“

            “Get off me,” Dean snarls, hands pushing at Castiel’s chest, “let _go_ of me, Cas,”

            “You can’t _hate_ me, Dean, please – I’ll take anything, anything you’ll give me but please, _please_ don’t say that. I’ll earn your love, just, don’t give up on me. I _need_ you, I can’t lose you.”

            “No, you can’t, and you know why? You never even _had_ me. What the hell did you expect to happen, here, you’d go and kidnap yourself a human and they’d just fall in love and have your stupid tentacle babies and you’d live happily ever after? Was that really what you expected to happen?”

            “I…I don’t, I suppose I didn’t really think of things like that, I just,” Castiel sighed, lowering his head and pressing it down, resting their foreheads together. “I saw you, and I had to _have_ you Dean, you belong in this nest, in my tentacles, you were born to stay there. And you were being chased down, what was I supposed to do, let you wander back into danger? “

            “Are you kidding? You are way more dangerous than any vampire. I could take those bastards out in my sleep, man.”

            “And yet, you ran into the ocean, where a dangerous monster such as myself lived,.” Castiel chuckled, self-depreciating, fingers curling into Dean’s hair as he tries to keep the tense and squirming man in place. He needs Dean to forgive him – if the man leaves now, angry and fueled by hatred, Castiel doubts their relationship will ever amount to anything. He’ll lose the man, forever, Dean won’t stop fighting and arguing until he either leaves or, worse, _dies_.

            “Yeah, well, I was hoping you guys had taken a vacation or some shit. Sides, not like I was planning on _staying_ in the water, not long anyway.”

            “Long enough,” Castiel huffs, “I should have killed him. Then, perhaps, you would be more open to me. You’d know that I can protect and care for you in a way no other can. I suppose it’s too late for that now, I doubt that vermin will dare to come near the water again.”

            “You’re kidding, right, man? You realize I’m not some damsel in distress?”

            “I don’t understand.” Castiel responds, perplexed, cocking his head. He yearns to move forward, to press his lips against Dean’s skin and soothe away the worry lines and anger he sees there. It’s taking everything in him to keep still, foreheads pressed together and eyes locked on each other, Dean’s still narrowed in anger.

            “I can take care of myself, is what I mean.”

            “You’re _human_ ,” Castiel disagrees, “you’re fragile and breakable and your life can end so easily, one blink and you’re gone, just like that. I have no doubt in you, Dean, you’ve managed well so far – but why can I not help to care for you, why can I not make sure you stay absolutely safe, make sure you live a long life alongside me?”

            “Because I don’t _want_ any of that, man, that’s the whole damn problem. You can’t just take some stranger and dump all this shit on them, it’s not fair for either of us.”

            “If I let you out of the water, you never would have come back. I’d never see you again.” Castiel argues, one finger stroking over Dean’s lip, feeling the warm skin, so fragile and easily destroyed under his touch. All it would take is one too-hard push, one tug, and he could _kill_ this man. How could Dean think that he was capable of taking care of himself, when his life was so easily ended? “Do you understand just how easily I could hurt you? One slip up and I myself could be a threat to your wellbeing.”

            “Yeah, I think you guys have made your strength plenty clear. So what?”

            “So, I _need_ to keep you safe, Dean, from myself and from everything else. It’s in our nature, it’s the way that we’re programed. We find our mates and we dedicate ourselves to protecting and caring for them. We leave our homes so young, and once we leave we don’t look back. I haven’t seen my brothers in years, I don’t even know where they’ve settled down, if they’ve found their mates yet – once we leave, our only chance for family and companionship is our mate. I’ve been waiting for you for so long, Dean, I’ve been _alone_ so long. You don’t have to love me – I won’t demand that of you, I _can’t_ , I know that, but please, please, do not leave me alone again. I cannot go back to an empty nest, not now that it’s already smelled of you. Please.” Castiel was begging now, but he couldn’t stop, the words kept rolling off his tongue even as he saw Dean’s eyes widen first in shock and then in pity. Even that isn’t enough to make him stop, though – he’ll take whatever he can get from Dean, from his mate, even if that’s no more than pity and dislike. As long as Dean is with him, within reach, and where Castiel can keep him safe and ensure that he is well cared for, Dean can look at him however he liked.

            “Hey, Cas, take a breath man-“ Dean’s talking, but the words aren’t making any sense, and Castiel is panting heavily, tentacles tightening around the man as he starts to squirm. Dean can’t leave him. He won’t allow it. “Whoa, hey, little tight, man, you gotta-“

            “ _Promise me_ ,” Castiel hisses out, desperation coloring his tone. “promise me you won’t leave me, Dean, promise me you won’t _try_ , and I’ll do everything I need to ensure you are _happy_. You won’t _want_ to leave, Dean, just give me a chance and I will make things wonderful for you.”

            “Cas-“ Dean’s going to refuse him, and he can’t understand why, what’s happening, but he at least knows Dean feels kinship with his own kind, and maybe that’s enough to make things right.

            “I’m sorry, I’m sorry I hurt those people, I thought it was the right thing to do, I just wanted to keep our nest safe and unknown, that’s all. I wouldn’t have done anything if I didn’t think they were a threat – I didn’t _know_ , Dean, didn’t know what boats were good and what boats weren’t, what was I supposed to do?”

* * *

 

Dean can practically feel himself deflate. The hot anger was now no more than a presence in the back of his mind, leering in the background, hovering over his shoulder, waiting to swoop in but, for the moment, not in control of him. It was a shame because really, some parts of him wanted to stay angry and keep yelling at Cas – he felt like he was finally making progress, finally getting closer to what he wanted. A little more push and he had little doubt Cas would let him go home, and he’d be free to live his own life far away from seraphs and all this other shit that he didn’t deserve to deal with.

            He also felt like he’d just dumped a box of puppies out into the rain, kicked them, and left them while he went to sit in the warm safety of his own home. Staring at them through the window, with a bowl of food in his hands, watching their ravenous expression as they stared forlornly at him. It wasn’t the _best_ comparison – for starters, Cas wasn’t locked away from him, he was a heavy presence on top of Dean, almost painfully so.

            He was angry, but...Cas, the fucker, was right. He didn’t really have a _right_ to be, not for this anyway. They’d been the ones who first ‘attacked’ even if that hadn’t been their intention, and Cas wouldn’t have had any way of knowing what different boats were used for. Anything _could_ have been a threat, Dean supposed, although that didn’t make sinking every damn thing that entered the water acceptable. But –

            “Are you going to keep doing it?” Dean asks, bluntly. At least if this is over, he can brush this off as something of the past, pretend that Cas has reformed or some shit.

            “If there are threats-“ Cas starts, murmuring as if he’s talking to himself, forgetting entirely of Dean’s presence for the moment.

            “No, Cas – are you going to keep sinking and killing every damn thing that enters the water? Yes or no?”

            “No?” Cas responds, voice cracking in question.

            “Damn in,” Dean breathes out, “Cas, man, you can’t just kill people and expect me to be okay with it-“

            “But it’s to protect you!” Cas interrupts.

            “Yeah, I get it; your intentions are good, or whatever. But a lot of those people were _innocent_ , Cas, they didn’t know or care about your nest or you. They were just bringing shit from one place to another, just doing their damn job, and you _killed them_.”

            “I didn’t know.” Cas muttered, looking away from Dean.

            “Yeah, well, now you do. So, are you going to keep doing it?”

            “No.” Cas says, certain this time, “I’ll only attack true threats, Dean, I swear.”

            Dean doesn’t bring up the fact that this promise doesn’t really mean anything at all – the likelihood of finding another boat on the water isn’t high. Dean doesn’t even know if sailing in the ocean is legal anymore. The only people who had boats used them for lakes, and he had the feeling those guys wouldn’t stand a chance being beaten around by the harsh waves of the sea. He can at least hope Cas understands that what he did was _wrong_ , and maybe that’ll wind up saving a couple of lives down the road.

            “Get off,” Dean repeats. Cas looks shocked, clinging tighter to Dean and ultimately refusing to budge. It makes Dean smile a little, lips pursing as he tries to keep himself in check. “The fish is getting cold, dude, you gotta let me up so we can eat.”

            At this, Cas relaxes, beaming down at Dean, white teeth gleaming. He’s quick to get off, apparently comforted by the regained complacency of his captive, though he refuses to let go of Dean completely. Instead, he keeps Dean wrapped up, tentacles all looped around him, holding Dean to his chest while another reaches for the discarded food. It’s cold, now, but Dean can’t find it in himself to care, his stomach has reminded his brain that it’s empty and he’s desperate for something to ease the rising pain.

            He reaches a hand out to grab the fish from Cas, frowning when it gets pulled back down, a smaller tentacle wrapping around his wrist a few times before tugging it back down to Dean’s lap. The tip traces over his palm, running along the sensitive skin and tickling him, and Dean tilts his head to stare questioningly at Cas.

            “Please?” Cas asks, staring at Dean wistfully as he tears a piece of fish off and holds it up to Dean’s mouth. “Can I?”

           Dean stares for another long moment, waiting for Castiel to smirk or laugh or _something_ , before he realizes with a painful start just how serious the seraph was.

            Jesus _fuck_. Right. Okay. So, looks like Cas was more than happy to go straight from a yelling, screaming fight-to-end-all-fight to ‘cutesy couple who does mind melting gooey things all the time to the point where others want to shoot themselves in the face just to get away from it’. Maybe this was a seraph thing? Or just a Cas thing, socially awkward and incapable of understanding that there was still a cool-down period between apologizing and returning to normal.

            Cas seems to sense his hesitance, the food slowly lowering, and Dean feels a pang of guilt stab through him. Fucking seraph with fucking bright blue eyes, looking all hopeful and _sad_ now, like Dean had single-handedly crushed his dreams _again._ Was it possible for the guy to stare at him without making him feel like the world’s biggest jerk, who’d just gotten back from dumping a bag of kittens over a bridge and into a rushing river?

            “This isn’t gonna be a regular thing,” Dean focuses on Castiel, on his widening blue eyes, hoping that Castiel had taken his sentence for what it was – a statement, this most certainly wasn’t going to be a regular thing. Cas nods his head rapidly, holding the fish back up less than an inch from Dean’s lips, and he has another moment to curse his hasty decision.

            Cas wasn’t holding the fish in his damned hands, of course not. How was Dean supposed to get it without brushing up against the slimy appendage, which was way up on his ‘do not do’ list? It was enough being _held_ by them all the fucking time, he really did not want to know what they tasted or felt like, and he didn’t want Cas to wonder what it’d be like to shove them in interesting places –

            Because _that_ wasn’t going to happen, because they weren’t mates and Dean was not ever letting things get that far. He had no idea how seraphs mated, but he had the feeling it was going to involve things that he didn’t even like watching _porn_ of, let alone having done to him personally.

            He wastes another few seconds, tongue licking out to wet his lips before sucking his lower one into his mouth, teeth digging into it hard enough to leave marks, pain flaring through him. Then, with a swift breath and a painful clench in his stomach, he squeezes his eyes shut and lurches forward, grabbing the edge of the fish and grimacing when the front of his teeth and his lips brush against Castiel, the tip of the tentacle curling to brush over his lips as he released the food. Dean chews and swallows quickly as he leans back, eyes flickering open in time to see the tip of Castiel’s tentacle hover in front of his face, twitching like it was fighting against the urge to brush against his lips again.

            He freezes when Castiel actually manages to muster up some courage, and instead of letting his tentacle fall back down to his side he lets it reach forward, brushing against the corner of Dean’s lips where a bead of saliva had gathered. A small sucker catches on his face, clinging for a moment before Castiel forces himself to back off, and the entire time Dean can hardly move, stoic as a statue.

            “Uh,” he manages to stutter out – eloquent as always, good work Dean, way to go. Castiel seems just as tongue-tied, though, mouth opening before clacking shut, no words ever making it out into the open. Dean’s not sure what he wants to hear, anyway – an apology? For what, Dean had pretty much given him _permission,_ it’s not like Castiel could feed him without physical contact.

            And besides – Dean’s not so sure he would want an apology, anyway. The tentacle didn’t feel quite as weird as it had, that first day, when Cas had shoved it into his mouth and he’d been caught off guard. It was salty and wet and kinda rubbery, sure, but it wasn’t…it wasn’t _fishy,_ he guessed, it didn’t make his stomach clench and it didn’t make him want to gag and wash his mouth out with whatever he could get his hands on.

            _Shit_ , Dean thought. He…actually _liked_ it.

            Why did that leave him with the souring sense of impending doom?

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short update - I wound up staying out later than I thought I would celebrating Mother's Day with my mom, and I can't keep my eyes open to fix the formatting any longer.  
> Because of the short update, it's likely that this will be six parts instead of five. There's still about a hundred pages of this story left, so I'm probably going to wind up splitting it into at least two more parts. I've updated the chapter numbers accordingly.

He foolishly thinks that maybe things will be okay for at least the rest of the night. Of course, nothing can be that easy, and it only takes until Castiel deems it time to go to sleep for their next fight to go down.

            Thankfully, Dean could honestly say it wasn’t anywhere near as heated as their previous one – he wasn’t sure how many of those he would be able to take, let alone how many Cas would take before snapping and lashing out at him. He didn’t like to think it would happen – Castiel had promised him he wouldn’t hurt him, after all, but seraphs were still seraphs, and he had the terrifying feeling they could only fight their instincts for so long before some sort of violence would result. After all, even the kindest humans could only be pushed so far before they lashed out with their fists. On the downside, it was still very much an argument, with heated exchanges and hands waving and Cas making things worse by looking so goddamn _confused_ about it all.

            It had started simple enough – Dean was exhausted, so he’d been more than happy to listen when Castiel had suggested they go back to the cave (or, rather, _nest,_ but Dean still wasn’t willing to call it that). He knew what Castiel really meant – time to get back on the bed, and hey, sleeping sounded like a damn fine plan right now. Unfortunately, between Castiel holding him while they ate and getting back to the cave, his clothes were soaked through again and the holes were starting to get bigger. Dean was reluctant to take them off, though, and after a few moments of consideration he finally decided to just leave them on, sickness be damned. Naked sleeping had been fifty shades of uncomfortable, and he really wasn’t game to do it more if he didn’t have to. Besides, maybe it’d get Castiel to give him some space – he probably wouldn’t want to be wrapped around a soaked and shivering human after all, it couldn’t be pleasant.

            Except Cas didn’t seem to understand what he was doing, and the second he climbed onto the bed he was dragging Dean up. Dean grunted – he’d only just gotten comfortable, and here Castiel was forcing him to move. Then those tentacles were pulling at his clothes, shoving his jacket off of his shoulders and reaching to tug his pants off his hips.

            “Dude, stop, what the hell are you doing?” Dean sputtered out, hands hitting at Castiel, trying to dislodge his tight grip.

            “Getting you ready for bed,” Castiel said, confused, eyebrows knitting together as he continues on, managing to get Dean’s pants down to his knees and his jacket tossed away.

            “I was already _in_ bed, man, stop.”

            “You can’t sleep in these. You’ll get sick.” Cas looked up at him, and Dean could see the pride lighting up his eyes, satisfied at remembering the apparently crucial information Dean had bestowed upon him earlier.

            “It’s fine, seriously, I wanna keep them on.”

            “Why? They aren’t necessary. I can keep you warm, these will just make things harder.”

            “I want them on,” Dean responded, stubbornly.

            “ _Why_? Give me one good reason.”

            “One? Fine. Humans don’t sleep naked. _I_ don’t sleep naked. Screw wet clothes, I’m not taking them off.”

            “But I can keep you warm!” Castiel yelled, the outburst startling Dean enough to make his hands lose their grip.

            “That’s not the point! I don’t like being fucking _naked_ , Cas, now just leave the damn clothes on!”

            “We’re mates, being naked is to be expected.” Castiel’s voice was painfully level, features twisted into a tense display of certainty.

            “Oh, you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me. We’re not going down this road again, Cas, I’m not sleeping naked and that’s that.”

            “What road? What does that mean?”

            “Not the point, and you know it. I’m still not your mate, and in about five seconds I’m your not-mate who’s sleeping outside, so _shut up and leave my damn clothes alone_.”

            “You are _not_ sleeping outside.”

            Dean cocked a brow and started struggling, lurching his body to the side of the bed, towards the rocky floor.

            “Dean!” Castiel grumbled, grip tightening. He practically dragged Dean back, tearing his grip off the vines and wrapping him up securely, until he couldn’t move a damn inch.

            “Let go of me, Cas!”

            “Absolutely not,” Cas responded, smug, “if you wanted a display of power, you merely had to ask. I’m stronger than you, Dean, and certainly capable of keeping you from harm – whether that be outside or from yourself. You’re not leaving this nest until morning, and you’re _not_ sleeping in wet clothes.”

           “ _Cas_!”

            “ _Relax_ , Dean,” Cas murmured, attention shifting to the crates piled up along one wall. “While I don’t understand what the problem is with sleeping naked – you had no problem last night, after all.”

            “ _Circumstances change, now let go of me you fucking bastard_.” Dean hissed out, eyes narrowed into a glare as he continued to uselessly struggle against the tight grip Castiel had bestowed upon him.

            “ _Relax_ ,” Castiel repeated, “As I was saying, I’m not sure what the problem is, but I’m sure we can find something suitable for you to wear, yes? Until you’re ready to forget about your useless clothing again.”

            “Not gonna happen,” Dean snarled, “and where the hell are you getting clothes? Seraphs have some secret cloth industry I don’t know about?”

            “Of course not,” Cas shook his head, smiling at his mates ridiculous thoughts, “but certainly some of boxes over there must have _something_ you can wear. While they might not be the best fit-“

            “No. Nuh-uh, no way. I’m not wearing dead guy’s clothes, Cas. That’s fucking sick.”

            “Why not?” Castiel asked, “they don’t need it anymore. It’s just going to sit there, otherwise. And-“ Dean tensed, feeling a few tentacles creep under the many holes littering his clothes, squirming their way underneath before suddenly jerking out, ripping the fabric clean off his body.

            “Hey!” Dean screamed, “the hell, Cas, you can’t just-“

            “ _And_ ,” Cas continued, “you’re clothes appear to now be unwearable. Shame. So, we can go through the boxes and find something for you to wear, or you’ll have to settle without. The choice is up to you – although, I’ll admit, I’m much more partial to the latter option.”

            “You’re a dick.” Dean said, “and seriously, I’m finding clothes and sleeping outside. Natures nicer than you pricks.”

            “You’re not sleeping outside,” Castiel dismissed, already dragging both of them over to the start of the pile of crates. He carefully pulled one of the top ones down, hand feeling along the cracked top before ripping it off, splinters of wood falling to the floor.

            With a heavy sigh, Dean caved, reaching a hand out and using the crate to support himself as he hefted himself up. Cas only allowed for limited movement, his tentacles still gripped tight around his torso, but he was at least able to sit up and use his hands.

            The first few crates wound up being a bust – while they had cloth, it wasn’t _clothing_. Just collections of bolts of satin and lace and cotton, all of which Dean was sure must be expensive. Some of it was ruined, water having managed to creep into the container, but some seemed perfectly untarnished. Cas seemed enthralled, running his hands along the fabric mesmerized, occasionally finding one that he must have liked more than the others and pressing it against Dean, holding it against his frame and staring with undisguised interest.

            “Focus, Cas,” Dean muttered, pushing away the latest bolt, a pink satin that, while admittedly soft and nice to the touch, wasn’t something he could wear and certainly wouldn’t keep him warm.

            Although the latter wasn’t really a concern. He wasn’t sleeping outside – and not just because of fucking Cas and his stupid ‘power display’ or whatever the fuck he wanted to call it, no, he wasn’t sleeping outside because it was cold and who the hell knows what was out there, waiting to feast on his flesh. If anyone was getting kicked out of the cave, it was going to be Cas, not him.

            He got excited when the found a crate that looked to have clothing, only to have his hopes dashed when he realized it was skirts and women’s tops and underwear. Cas, apparently either unbothered or unaware, happily held an assortment of lacey underwear and brightly colored tops out to Dean for his inspection.

            “Dude, no,” Dean said, pushing Castiel’s offering away. “’m not wearing those, keep looking.”

            “Why not?” Cas asked, petulant, “these feel nice. I’m sure they would look wonderful on you-“

            “They’re for _chicks,_ Cas, not guys. I’m not wearing women’s underwear, that just goes to show you’re batting for a different team than you think.”

            “What?” Castiel said, sounding a surprising mix of confused and pissed.

            “Nothing,” Dean laughed to himself, shaking his head softly. “Just keep looking.”

            “These will be comfortable.” Castiel insisted, holding out the lacy underwear, “at least agree to these. We’ll keep looking and find you other clothing, but these-“

            “Are women’s underwear, and I’m not a girl. You’ve both seen and felt proof of that,” Castiel flushed at the comment, glancing down for a moment before letting his eyes meet Dean’s again, still holding the underwear out.

            “I’ll just leave it here.” He said, letting the underwear fall into the corner. Dean tried to ignore how Castiel kept combing through the box, pulling out more underwear and adding it to his pile. Whatever. Cas could _leave_ whatever he wanted out, Dean sure as hell wasn’t wearing any of it. There had to be a pair of boxers or briefs or _something_ in this eclectic collection of shit.

            By the sixth box, Dean was beginning to lose hope – which, of course, meant that was the box where he _finally_ found men’s clothing. The top layer he threw aside quickly, knowing full well that the shirts and pants would be way too tight to ever hope to get on him. Luckily, the next layer is made up of much bigger clothes – he’s pretty sure they’re too big, actually, but at least it’s something to cover him. And, honestly, he’d rather be swimming in clothing at this point – it’d probably piss Cas off, keeping him from seeing Dean’s body. He grabbed the first shirt and pants he found, grimacing when his hands fell on the boxers laying underneath.

            The shirt he was quick to shrug on – it was short sleeve, lightweight and not exactly the warm clothing he was hoping for, but he was tired and he had the feeling Cas wasn’t going to leave him alone anyway, so he didn’t really need anything more than that. He was pretty sure his suit jacket had survived Cas’ attack, anyway, so if he really needed something he could always use that as a blanket or some shit. The grey fabric was way too big on him, as he’d expected, hanging loose off of his frame, the holes for his arms big enough to fit another set and the collar of the shirt hanging stretched out and low. It’d do, though, he was honestly too tired to give a shit what he looked like, as long as he wasn’t naked anymore.

            The pants and boxers were another issue. Well, mainly the boxers were. Had these been worn before, or was this a shipping crate filled with clothes to be sold? The shirt felt worn, soft to the touch and stretched out, like someone had lovingly worn it for years and it was just starting to show its appreciation by molding itself to their frame. But shirts were one thing – it was totally fine for him to wear a dead guys shirts, and he was willing to wear their pants, too, but…their underwear? That was fucking gross. What if these hadn’t even been washed?

            He tilted his head down, sniffing the shirt, but he could only smell the ocean and a faint old smell, like it’d been left in a drawer for too long. Not really an indicator as to how clean any of it was, though there were no notable stains on anything he’d found so far.

            He couldn’t not wear anything, though. For one, _ow_. And besides that, he had the feeling Cas wouldn’t let him get away with it – the guy was a fast learner, and he’d already noted what Dean typically wore. He’d likely start to question him if he didn’t put any sort of underwear on, and though Dean was sure he could pass it off as something people did, if he did start to chafe Cas would get _pissed_ , and then he might insist Dean start wearing the shit that he’d picked out. He really wasn’t up for another argument, especially not one that could be avoided by sucking up his pride and slipping on a dead guy’s underwear.

            That sounded a lot better in his head, he mused.

            “What’s wrong?” Cas leaned over, fingers stroking the material of the boxers, face contorting into a grimace that nearly made Dean laugh.

            “Nothin’” Dean said, shrugging his shoulders. He let out a soft sigh, hoping it was too quiet to be heard, and started working to shove his legs into the boxers, thankful that these, at least, were smaller and less likely to hang off of his frame. The elastic band didn’t look too stretched out, leading him to hope that maybe these hadn’t been worn at all, and they’d mold themselves to _his_ body instead of that of a dead guys.

            “These don’t feel the same,” Cas complained, looking over at his pile of silk and lace again.

            “They’re not supposed to, Cas, these are made to be cheap and comfortable.”

            “What are the other for?”

            “Uh,” Dean glanced down, shoving his feet through the boxers, internally complaining – with Cas still looped around him, getting boxers and pants on was proving to be nearly impossible. “To look nice, I guess? I don’t know, man, girls like them. I’d guess they’re comfortable enough, and they made ‘em feel pretty, too.”

            “They’d made you look pretty,” Cas insisted, smiling now, one tentacle holding the edge of the boxers, keeping Dean from pulling them on any further.

            “No, Cas,” Dean forced his tone as low as it would go, hoping that would get his point across. “’M not wearing those, end of discussion. You wanted someone to wear girl’s underwear, you should have found yourself a _girl_ to kidnap.”

            Cas huffed, crossing his arms, a petulant expression crossing his face, but he let his tentacle fall away and Dean was able to finish his task, pulling the boxers up and cheering internally when the elastic band clung to his hips, assuring him that the boxers wouldn’t fall down the second he stood up.

            He’s just grabbing some cloth pants when Cas makes a downright pitiful sound, mournful like a dying whale, echoing off the cave walls. Dean cocks a brow, looking over at Cas, feet shoved in the holes and the pants half-pulled on to him.

            “You okay?” He asks, watching as Cas’ blue eyes seem to quiver, watering and glancing between Dean and his pants. “Cas?”

            “Please?” Cas chirps, leaning closer to Dean until he can rest his head on the human’s shoulder, lips brushing against Dean’s jawline. He fights against the urge to push him away, instead trying to focus on what it was Castiel _wanted_.

            “Please _what_ , Cas? Can you be a little more specific?”

            “I can keep you warm!” Cas says, insistent, “ _please_ , let me keep you warm? Want to feel your skin, Dean, don’t cover _all_ of it.”

            “Seriously, Cas? I’m not sleeping in boxers, I’m putting the damn pants on.”

            Cas whimpers, one hand reaching up to grab at Dean’s shirt, fingers twisting the fabric carefully. Dean can sense the hidden question – if he won’t take off his pants, Cas wants the shirt to come off.

            “No.” Dean says, “I don’t fucking care right now, Cas, I’m keeping the clothes on. You’re just gonna have to deal with it.”

            Cas makes another sad sound, continuing to whimper as Dean finishes pulling the pants on. They’re a little loose around his waist – if he moves around too much he’s sure they’re going to fall off, and a belt would be fantastically useful right about now, but as long as he’s careful it shouldn’t be too much of a problem. He can’t imagine it will be an issue if he’s just sleeping, unless Cas gets huffy and decides to pull them off while he’s sleeping. There’s not a lot he can do about that _now_ , though, it’ll be a fight that has to wait until if and when it happens in the morning.

            Cas helps him get back into bed, wrapping around Dean, and the hunter tries to ignore the continued sad huffs. Cas won’t stop making them, tiny little sounds that both annoy him and tug at his heart – he just wants to _sleep_ , damn it, but that’s hard to do when Cas’ entire body is shuddering from the soft desperate gasps ricocheting through him.

            After a while he just fakes sleep, hoping that Cas’ charades will stop when he thinks Dean isn’t awake to pay attention to him anymore, or maybe he’ll try and take things into his own hands and Dean can catch him before he succeeds in pulling his pants off. It’s not that he wants to get into another fight with Cas, but he’d rather be awake if and when the seraph tries, so he can stop things before they get too far. He’s gonna be pissed if he wakes up with no pants and tentacles wrapped around him come morning.

            Cas believes him, he thinks, so he must be a better actor than he (and Sam) thought. But the seraph doesn’t stop crying, nor does he tug Dean’s clothes off by himself. Instead, the sounds seem to get _louder_ , a desperate, loud wail that nearly startles Dean into jerking, which would have cost him his sleeping act. He catches himself in time, stopping his body from tensing and forcing himself to relax into Castiel’s tight grip, cursing the fact that he can’t _see_ what the seraph is doing.

            He can feel him, though, can feel Cas move to rest his head against Dean’s shoulder, can feel the huffs of breath being panted against his neck. And he can feel when Cas leans forward, slowly and carefully, hesitating for a moment before pressing a gentle kiss against the shell of Dean’s ear, dry and chaste. It’s more dragging his lips against Dean’s skin than anything, though it’s enough to make a jolt of electricity shutter through Dean, and once more he nearly opens his eyes and ends the game he’d unknowingly started. What is Cas _doing_? Maybe he didn’t think Dean was asleep, and he was calling his bluff? Playing a game of chicken, trying to see what he could get away with before Dean ‘woke up’?

            “I love you,” he hears, whispered into his ear, so soft he almost doesn’t hear it, “I wish you’d understand that, little mate, I wish you’d see just how much I care about you. I’ll be so good to you, once you let me in…I know you’ll never regret it. I’ll take such good care of you, nothing will ever hurt you. I just wish I knew what you wanted.”

Cas’ fingers trail along his face, rubbing along his cheekbones and the corner of his closed eyes, tickling and soothing at the same time. Dean bites his lip to keep from smiling, certain that Cas must be able to tell that he’s awake – there’s no way, Dean’s gone tense and he’s biting his lip so hard he’s at risk of it starting to bleed, Cas _must_ know that he’s just playing by now. But Cas keeps going, and Dean can’t open his eyes to see if the seraph is smiling or not, to see if this is a joke or if Cas is terrifyingly serious.

            “I’ll figure it out, I swear,” Cas whispers, again, lips ghosting along the path his fingers has laid out, drifting over his forehead and down his cheeks, carefully pressing at his jawline before whispering more soft words into the skin there, “we’re mates, after all. I need you. So, so much. It’s terrifying, really, how strong and fast this whole..change, yes, change, happened. One moment I was perfectly content, perhaps a little empty, but capable of life. And then you came along, and now I can’t seem to remember how I filled my days, how I managed to survive without you, and every time I lose sight of you it’s like being ripped apart. I can’t bear the thought of ever losing you – you’re _mine_ , Dean, you’re a part of me now and you will be forever, whether you chose to accept my courtship or not.”

            Dean’s breath grows ragged, his stomach clenches and he can’t stop from clenching up entirely. He’s terrified that Cas will keep talking – and yet, he’s equally terrified that Cas will stop, he _needs_ to hear more, to know that Cas isn’t joking with him anymore, because his words imply a seriousness that simply _cannot_ be joked about. It would be cruel, even if Dean didn’t want anything to do with Cas. And he doesn’t. That hasn’t changed, he reminds himself, they’d just gotten into a fight and Cas was a pervert who wanted him to sleep naked so he could have a tentacle cupping his junk, and there were so many reasons that they would never work out.

            “I love you.” Cas repeats, his breath falling on Dean’s lips, and he can’t help but part his mouth in anticipation, “please don’t shut me out. I’m not sure I can let you go, if that’s the choice you keep making – but…I’ll try, Dean, I want you to be _happy_. Even if that means I can’t be, I’ll try. You’ll always come first.”

            His eyes fly open in time for Castiel’s to close, Cas’ head drifting closer until their lips are pressed together. It’s soft, not at all the kind of kiss Dean expected from a seraph, the pressure bare and the feeling dry. Cas doesn’t try to take things far – either because he thinks Dean is still asleep, or because that’s truly not what this is about, Dean’s not sure. He swallows, careful not to move, and after a moment shuts his eyes again, letting the warm feeling of Cas flood through him. It makes his toes curl, brushing against Cas’ tentacles, and he realizes too late that he’s unconsciously started to move forward, closer to Cas. He tenses, forces his body to still and wait for Cas to be done – which happens seconds later, as Cas parts with a soft sigh, warm breath fanning over Dean’s tingling lips.

            He feels another kiss pressed into his forehead before he’s carefully shifted around, his head pressed back into Castiel’s side, breaths of air being puffed against his hair. He doesn’t open his eyes until Cas’ breathing has evened out, and even then, he waits until he’s absolutely sure the seraph has fallen asleep – he won’t make the same mistake Castiel made.

            Even if that mistake had worked out in his benefit. Dean can’t deny the tingling warmth that’s still flooding through him – and at an action as simple and chaste as the kiss they’d shared, a kiss he’d barely had a part in, hell, Cas himself had barely done anything. It’d just been contact, and yet it made him feel like he’d just kissed a girl for the first time, that same static flooding through him and making him practically _giddy_.

            He’s tense and terrified and angry and every damn other emotion he’s ever felt, because fucking _Cas_ had to go and figure out just how to play him like a fiddle, and to make matters worse Dean is pretty damn sure the fucking seraph didn’t even understand that was what he was doing.

            He’s still thinking when he finally caves and falls asleep, head still resting on Cas neck and hands splayed over his chest, fingers tracing lazy patterns in the muscle.

            He’s not sure what the speech and kiss means, really, how true any of it was or if it should actually make a difference to him. But…he knows it does, he knows it makes it a hell of a lot harder to stay pissed at Cas, harder to remember that he was supposed to be finding ways to get home and maybe figuring out how to go about getting Cas a seraph girlfriend to mate and nest with.

            And most importantly, he knows he doesn’t want Cas kissing anyone else like that. He doesn’t deserve soft and careful kisses, but the idea of Cas sharing them with some other mate while he’s on the shoreline hunting and running for his life…it leaves his stomach rolling and a sour taste on his tongue.

            Whatever. He’ll deal with it in the morning.

* * *

 

When he first wakes up, it’s easy to forget about the fight and all the problems from the day before. His mind is sleep-fogged and lazy, and filled with warm thoughts about _mate_ and _nest_ and _comfort,_ and his lips drag up in a smile.

            It’s nice, being able to lose himself in this. He’s wrapped around his still-sleeping mate, whose tucked beneath him safe and sound. Dean’s breathing is calm and even, warm against the skin of Castiel’s neck and comforting. It makes him want to fall back asleep again – he wants nothing more than to bury his face in Dean’s hair and let the soothing scent of his mate drag him back into unconsciousness.

            But his stomach is starting to roll with hunger, and he can feel Dean beginning to stir. He forces himself to disentangle, keeping a few tentacles loosely wrapped around the man, the distance helping to clear his mind and bring him back to the world.

            And that brings back all of the memories of last night, the arguing and the leaving and the fighting and the making up – and the _begging_ , when Dean had finally fallen asleep, begging for Dean to accept him and take him as a mate, because truly he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to survive letting Dean go. The idea of it makes him sick, no matter how he phrases it – Dean would be happy, Dean _wants_ to leave, no matter what he says to himself it makes him want to curl up in a ball, tuck Dean alongside him and never let go, not until Dean realizes that he doesn’t _know_ what he wants, that deep down he wants to stay with Castiel and nest together and be tied together for the rest of their lives.

            He’s not sure how today will fare. Yesterday morning he’d been so sure things were going well – he’d thought he was close to having his mate secured, their relationship definite and his mark placed on undeniable on the human, to the point where he wouldn’t have to be fearful every time he had to leave to get food or start a fire. Now, he didn’t dare think like that. He didn’t want to get his hopes up only to have them crash and burn. It was better to be cautious, careful, to set the bar low and have things turn out _great_.

            He’s startled out of his thoughts when he realizes green eyes are peering at him. Dean’s eyes are lazily roving over his face, a small, half-hearted smile gracing his face.

            “Mornin’” Dean drawls out, rolling his shoulders back like the last morning. They crack again, sending another wave of panic through Castiel – he’s not sure he’ll ever get used to that sound, it’s so foreign and _dangerous_ sounding, suggesting something is wrong even though Castiel knows from experience that the muscle is perfectly sound. Still, he feels the unyielding need to investigate it once more, his hand reaching over and palming at the backside of Dean’s shoulder, feeling the muscle and frowning at the tension there.

            He needs to take care of that. His hand travels down the rest of Dean, feeling along and noting the tension extends beyond the shoulder – Dean’s entire body is tense, it certainly must be painful. And as the dominant, it’s Castiel’s job to relieve his mate of such irritations and pain.

            “You’re in pain,” Castiel says, locking eyes with Dean. Dean stares back, confused.

            “No?” Dean says, “is this the shoulder thing again? I swear, Cas, it’s normal. Muscles crack and pop, sometimes, it doesn’t mean anything is wrong and you can’t really feel it. Hell, sometimes it even feels _good_ , nice way to relax. Can’t you…tell nothing’s wrong, when you feel along it like that? I thought that was the point?”

            “Not your shoulder,” Cas says quickly, before correcting himself, “well – yes, your shoulder, but not _just_ your shoulder. You’re tense all over, Dean, how can you not be in pain?”

            “Uh,” Dean says, eyes rolling up as he thinks. Cas fights the urge to force Dean to look at him again, knowing the human is just looking away to comb through his thoughts so he can answer _honestly_. “Guess I’m just used to it, man, I don’t know. Don’t really feel it, anymore. You’re probably tense like that, too, though, right? You must know what I’m talking about.”

            “No, I don’t,” Cas responds, irritated, “and neither should you.” He starts to push Dean over to his stomach, mindful not to press too hard on the abused muscle. “Let me help you, Dean, I know how to fix this. I can make you feel better in no time, and I’ll make sure it won’t get that bad again.”

            “Uh, look, I don’t know about-“

            “Dean,” Castiel cuts off, “please. Some trust – I won’t hurt you, I just want to _help_.”

            Castiel pauses, hands on Dean’s cloth-covered skin, tempted to start regardless of Dean’s protests. But the human is so tense, he knows that half of the muscle problems would be relieved if the man would simply ease up around him – if he tries massaging him now, it’d be fighting his way up a hill. He’d much rather have Dean’s approval, that would make things so much easier.

            “Yeah, whatever. Stop if I say, though, fuck.” Dean starts to relax, rolling his shoulder back and meeting Castiel half-way. “Don’t rip my shirt,” he adds as an afterthought.

            “Of course.” Castiel responds, groaning internally. He’d honestly been planning on just tearing through the cloth – taking it off seemed like so much more effort, and besides, if he kept ripping clothes perhaps Dean would stop insisting on wearing them. Now that Dean’s asked him specifically, though, he can’t follow through on his plan. It’d just lead to more fights and arguments and more of Dean either threatening to kick him out or threatening to sleep outside – and while the latter certainly wouldn’t happen, he didn’t want any sort of silent treatment between them. He couldn’t think of anything worse than having Dean refuse to talk to him about anything and doing no more than sullenly staring at the walls of their nest.

            He grabs the edge of the shirt and starts to tug it up, smiling when Dean moves to help him, lifting his arms up and shimmying his way out of the stupid cotton shirt.

            Then Castiel is blessed with nothing but skin, warm and tanned and _perfect_ against the palm of his hand. He can’t help but reach out and squeeze some of it, feeling it roll under his grip and listening to the slight groan Dean let out at the tiniest contact. There are freckles here, too, much like Dean’s face – he hadn’t gotten a chance to truly appreciate before, so busy either checking for injury or trying to convince Dean to trust him. Now he can’t help but take in the gorgeous view, the freckles that dot in a random pattern and the lines of taunt muscle and the dip of his spine leading all the way down to the waistband of his stupid loose pants that Castiel wanted nothing more than to tug off.

            He refrains, though, instead focusing on the smattering of scars, cuts and bruises that mar the skin, crisscrossing over each other and ruining the canvas of skin. Castiel hates them. They fill him with rage, make him want to smash everything and everyone Dean has ever come in contact with, because _how dare they harm the mate of a seraph_ , how dare the world keep Dean from him when he was the only one capable of protecting him. He could have stopped all of this from happening – if only Dean had come sooner, if only he had heard Dean when he was first born and clawed his way to him, he’d have taken him away and raised him and kept him safe from everything in the whole damn universe. Then Dean would love him, because he would know how devoted Castiel truly was and he would know that Castiel would never harm him. He’d have time on his side, and Dean would never have been harmed so he’d never know _why_ he shouldn’t trust Castiel, that thought would never cross his silly mind. They’d be mates and that would be that – the second Dean was of age, that would have been settled, and there’d be so much less hassle and annoyance.

            He wants to heal all the marks and replace them with ones of his own, marks that show love and adoration and kindness, marks that would remind Dean that he was loved every time he saw them and marks that would tell everything else in the world exactly what would happen to them if they came anywhere near his beloved mate.

            Instead, he lets his fingers drift over the marks, trailing along and listening to the slight hiss Dean lets out – not in pain, he hopes, but in shock, because he knows Dean has never been touched here gently and kindly. He’s lived a life of pain and agony, and Castiel seeks to erase every one of those memories and replace them with gentle and soothing touches and kisses.

            “You’re perfect,” Castiel mumbles, “I know you don’t want to hear that, but you are. Let me take some of this pain away, Dean, let me make you happy, like you make me happy.”

            Dean makes a garbled mumbling sound, his protests cut off when Cas starts kneading the skin, hands pinching at him as he seeks out the worst of the tension riddled areas.

            “Fuck,” Dean grunts out, “shit, Cas, don’t stop. Better than magic fingers.” Cas smiles as Dean relaxes, going lax in his grip, muscles loosening until Dean is pliable, fluid as the ocean.

            “Magic fingers?” Cas parrots back, curious – he’s never heard the term before, the people on the beach had made no mention of magical fingers. Were they common place, or was it something Dean had had to hunt down?

            “Not important,” Dean chuckles, lifting his arms so that he can pillow his head on them. “Where’d you learn to give massages?”

            Cas frowns, still curious about the magic fingers, but lets it slide. He can always ask later, he wants to enjoy compliant Dean while he has him, and he doesn’t want to do anything risky that would cause Dean to rile up again. “My father taught me. It was one of the many tasks I had to perfect before we were ready to find our own nests.”

            “Oh yeah? He teach all of your siblings?”

            “All of the dominant ones. My mother took care of the others, until they were claimed and taken to their true nests.”

            “The dominant ones? The hell does that mean?” Dean chokes out, starting to go rigid under Castiel’s hold, until Cas finds a particularly bad knot. His protests die on his tongue, then, turning into a stifled moan.

            Castiel hums in thought, “I’m not sure what it would equate to in humans,” he admits, bending down so that he’s closer to Dean, sniffing him and smiling at the scent, “There are types of seraphs, besides gender. Dominant and submissive. I myself am a dominant, as was my father. My mother was a submissive, of course.”

            “Of course,” Dean grunts, though he doesn’t sound like he understands, “what’s the difference, exactly?” He can feel the fear riding up in Dean, the way his muscles have started to tense and the struggled breathing, his eyes clenched shut and his hands pulled into tight fists.

            “The dominants are in charge of caring for our submissive mates. We are taught how to care for them – finding and maintaining our nest, finding our true mate, and then keeping them healthy and happy. Our parents teach us everything we need to know, and when they deem us ready we leave their care and move on to find our own nests, start our own families. The submissive’s have less to learn, and they tend to stay with the parents until a dominant mate finds and claims them.”

            “And then what?” Dean asks, tilting his head back to look at Cas, green eyes hooded, “they just kidnap them? Do the submissives even get a say, or is it just what the dominants want?”

            Castiel pauses, “I’ve never thought about it,” he muses, “having a submissive decline mating is…unheard of. It’s simply not how our kind operate. But, I suppose if the submissive truly had a problem with the mating, they would be free to leave. And, of course, if the dominant were to harm them in any way, the dominants of the submissive family would handle things appropriately. That’s very rarely done, though – hurting our mates goes against our very code.”

            “Uh-huh,” Dean sighs, “sounds kinda fishy, man. And unhealthy.”

            “What do you mean?” Castiel asks, forcing himself to relax and not get riled up.

            “I mean, don’t you think it’s weird that the dominants are the ones in charge of, well, everything? Jeezes, it’s been a couple days and this whole thing is already unbalanced as hell. You get the food, you built the nest…you do pretty much every damn thing. What does the submissive put into the relationship?”

            “They,” Castiel chews his lip, thinking, “they make the nest into a home. Our nests mean nothing without a mate to share them with. The submissive provides us with meaning to our life. They make us happy, they give us something to care for. We’re hardwired this way, Dean, I _need_ to care for someone. You give me an outlet, you make me happy. Isn’t that enough of a job?”

            Dean doesn’t answer for a while, but Cas is okay with that. He lets the silence roll through the cave, focusing on Dean, trailing his hands down to massage his lower back, satisfied that his shoulder and upper back were taken care of. The only sound in the cave is the slight panting of Dean’s breath, the swish of Castiel’s tentacles in the water and the slight popping his suckers make as they pull off of Dean’s skin. It’s peaceful, and he’s almost afraid for when Dean does start to speak again, knowing that things could so easily take a turn for the worse.

            “You’re saying I’m the girl in this relationship,” Dean says, finally, relaxing back onto the bed and turning his head into his arms, nearly muffling his words.    

            “You made it very clear our first day together that you are a male, Dean.” Cas responds, hands gripping onto Dean’s hips. The man is pliant beneath him, now, and the muscles that had been sore and abused are now loose and free of kinks and knots. He’ll have to keep at it, make sure that Dean never gets to stress-riddled again (he shouldn’t, Castiel knows, considering despite their previous argument there’s no way Dean is doing something as foolish and reckless as hunting, and without that in his life he shouldn’t have anything so stressful and nerve wracking to put his body into such a state again), but for right now the problem has been properly taken care of.

            Dean chuckles, soft sounds at first before he presses his head further into his arms, pressing his face down against the skin of his arms and hands and hiding his face away as his laughter bubbles into something much louder. It makes his body shake and tremble, and Castiel can’t help his own answering smile – he doesn’t know what he’s done, but whatever it is has made Dean happy, which is a much better response than the one he’d been fearfully expecting. He likes the sound of Dean’s laughter, likes the way it makes his loose-limbed body arch up off the bed towards Castiel. He only wishes he could _see_ Dean, see more of him than his back. He wants to see his mates expression, wants to know if Dean’s eyes crinkle up when he laughs or if he shuts them, wants to know how many of his teeth show and if he tilts his head up or down. The denial of such a sight upsets him, spoiling some of the happiness he’d felt at the gift of laughter, but he swallows and forces it away, focusing instead on the pleasing sound as it reaches his ear, knowing full well that he should enjoy it while he has it because so far it has been such a rare gift.

            “Right, yeah, I forgot how literal you can be,” Dean chokes out between laughing fits, fingers curling around the vines underneath him and head turning further in towards his chest, hiding himself further from Castiel’s gaze. Cas can’t help but wonder whether Dean is hiding away on purpose, out of some silly idea of embarrassment or if Dean is unknowingly denying him of something he desperately wanted. “Lemme rephrase – you think I’m _submissive_?” Dean has to say the last word a few times, he can’t stop laughing and every time he starts it seems to entice another bout of laughter from him. Castiel still doesn’t know what’s so funny – especially about the word submissive – but he tries to push the curiosity from his mind in favor of answering his mates apparent question.

            “I know you’re submissive,” Castiel says, “I’m dominant, and you’re my mate, which means you _have_ to be. We wouldn’t be compatible if you were not.”

            “Wait –“ Dean says, laughter suddenly dying and body clenching up. He rises up off of his arms, tilting his head back to peer over at Castiel curiously, “so, if I were, say, _not_ submissive-“

            “But you are,” Castiel says, patiently.

            “Right. But, you know, _hypothetically_ , if you were wrong or whatever, and I wasn’t submissive – we couldn’t be mates, then?”

            Castiel narrows his eyes, eyeing his mate skeptically. He already doesn’t like where this is going – Dean’s silly curiosity is bordering on offensive. Castiel wasn’t wrong. Dean was submissive. Insinuating anything to the contrary was ridiculous.

            “No, we couldn’t be,” Castiel says, voice hard. He lets one hand release its hold on Dean’s hip, flipping the man over onto his back and cupping his face, fingers brushing against his cheek. He smiles as Dean’s face heats up and as his body unconsciously relaxes, letting Castiel’s body blanket over him. Submissive. Of course he wasn’t wrong.

            “Right. So, hypothetically speaking,” Dean says, squirming a little as he tries to get comfortable, his hand finding its way onto Castiel, fingers looping around his arm, “how would you tell what a human is? Besides just, you know, deciding? There must be something that sets compatible humans apart, right?”

            “There is.” Castiel says, smiling. “Many things, actually. Dominant’s are hardwired to be able to recognize their mate from a great distance – there are a number of things that will signal to us that a specific being is our intended mate. Scent and sight are most common, however in our case your voice was the first thing I heard. Your voice called to me, telling me that you were my submissive.”

 

            “So, if I’d just stayed quiet,” Dean trails off, hesitant.

            “I probably wouldn’t have found you when I did,” Castiel admits, reluctantly.

            “Right, that figures.” Dean mumbles. Castiel’s grip tightens, his hand roughly grabbing and digging into Dean’s cheek, startling the man into widening his eyes and locking their focus together.

            “I still would have found you, Dean, I promise. Our meeting may have been hastened by that event, but it not happening certainly would not have meant you’d allude me. I would find you, no matter where you went.”

            “Except you didn’t know I existed, did you?” Dean points out, “you had no clue I was alive yet, so what’s to tell you that you’d have ever found me? I could have died long before you even thought to start looking. Face it, Cas, if I hadn’t opened my damn mouth I’d be driving to some new hunt with my brother. My life would still be…normal,” he finishes, lamely, voice trailing off as he both loses steam and realizes that _normal_ may not be the best description of a hunters life. It doesn’t help that Castiel is glaring at him, looking for all the world like he was considering shoving a tentacle into Dean’s mouth to shut him up. Dean could understand – these couldn’t be easy words to hear, but they were _true_. All Dean had to do was stop himself from stupidly goading on the stupid vampire, and he wouldn’t be in this stupid mess. He’d be in his Impala, driving to who knows where with Sam snoring in the passenger seat.

            “I would have found you,” Castiel says, finally, voice hard and clipped, “I wouldn’t have let you…let you _die_ , Dean, I wouldn’t. Somehow, I would have figured it out and I would have come for you. I’m _sorry_.”

            “Sorry?” Dean asks, stopping his incessant squirming for a moment while he takes Castiel in a new light. What did the seraph have to apologize for?

            “You’re angry. I understand. I should have been able to….to sense you, when you were first born, we should not have been apart for so long. I wish I could change that, Dean, I do, and I’m sorry you had to go through so much pain before I found you – but I can’t change that, much as I’d like to. I found you as soon as I knew you were alive – I didn’t waste a minute, you know that, _please_ , you can’t be angry with me for that.”

            “Wha – fuck, Cas, you’re…you’re missing the point _entirely_ , I’m not angry about you coming late I’m an-“

            “Oh,” Castiel cuts off, relief flooding his tone, “oh, good, that’s good. We’re…we’re good, then, if you aren’t angry about my failure? All is well?”

            He can see Dean’s hesitation in the way his mouth opens, lips tilted down and tongue flicking up as he starts to talk and stops, no words making their way out of his throat. He does this false start a few times before finally, squeezing his eyes shut and taking in a deep breath of air, deep enough where his body presses up against Castiel’s hold, back arching up off the mattress and chest constricting.

            “Cas,” he says, finally, opening his green eyes back up, “buddy, I don’t know how to explain this to you – but I’m no _submissive_ , man, no way in hell. You, ah, you screwed up, there, and I think that’s where this whole damn thing went wrong – I don’t know what you sensed in me, but it sure as hell wasn’t _that_.”

            “Your body disagrees with you,” Castiel says, smugly, even as a bout of irritation works its way through him, “the way you relax in my hold,” and, of course, that makes his predictable mate tense up and start squirming again. “The way you accept my offerings, the way you came to _me_ for aid, your every action screams your nature just as loudly as your scent pronounces it. There is simple no way I am wrong, Dean, despite what your mind may urge you to believe.”

            Dean’s gaze shifts away from him, looking towards the cave wall instead of the seraph plastered over top of him. Castiel immediately misses the green eyes locked onto him, though he doesn’t know how to get Dean to return his focus to him.

            It’s at that moment a terrible thought occurs to Castiel, one that had been admittedly lurking in the back of his mind since Dean first started to show reluctance, though at the time he’d been too stubborn and naïve to give it any credit.

            “You…you truly do not wish to be my mate, do you, Dean? You are, as you were before, serious about rejecting me?”

* * *

Dean opens his mouth, cutting himself off before his quick denial can fall from his lips.

            This is the moment he’s been waiting for, he knows. He’s been waiting for Castiel to realize how completely unwilling he was since the seraph had first taken him.

            Except he sure as hell didn’t want it like this. With Cas staring down at him like he’d just lost all hope, actual tears falling from his eyes, dripping down his cheek and onto Dean. He knew this was coming – of course he had, he’d known when this first started that when Cas finally realized that there was just… _nothing_ , nothing he could do, no way that he could make Dean want to stay or be his mate or have anything to do with him whatsoever. He knew it would crush Cas, and that he’d have to hit a damn bad low until he hopefully could pick himself back up and find a seraph mate to nest with or whatever.

            But, Jesus, Cas was staring at him unrestrained, and Dean couldn’t find it in himself to finish things off, and tell Castiel everything that had been festering in him. How stupid all of this was. How stupid _Cas_ was, thinking he could just take some random guy from the beach (who’d done nothing wrong but apparently talk too fucking loud, and that’d been enough to pin him down as a _submissive_ , which, when paired with the name Dean Winchester, was as laughable as it was stupid) and make them _love_ him. Stupid Cas, who had the nerve to do all of this and then somehow make _Dean_ feel like the bad guy, when if anyone had the right to be angry or sad or _anything whatsoever_ it should be Dean.

            “I don’t-“ Castiel chokes out, before taking a deep breath and pressing his head down into Dean’s throat, breathing out against the sensitive flesh. “I’ve managed to screw this up, haven’t I? There’s…there’s nothing left, nothing I can do to change this, to fix it? I’ve _ruined_ it?”

            “Cas,” Dean says, working hard to keep his voice gentle and soft, one hand tugging up out of Castiel’s lax hold to start patting at his back, rubbing at his shoulder blades and trying to ignore how the seraph’s body was shaking. “It’s not like that, come on, man, don’t – take a breath, calm down.”

            “My mate wants to _leave me_ ,” Cas wails, lips dragging against Dean’s skin, “My _world_ , and you want – I can’t even keep my _mate_ happy, how am I supposed to calm down, Dean?”

            “You can start by, you know, actually _breathing_ , man,” Dean jokes, unable to stop himself from falling back on his familiar comforting mechanism, “I never…I never said I wasn’t – shit, Cas, why the hell are you making this so damn difficult? You couldn’t have thought this was actually going to work out into anything, right? For fuck’s sake, you took some stranger out of the ocean, you thought I was going to magically fall for you and we’d be happy together forever?”

            “I don’t-“ Cas sobs, again, tiling his head up to nose at Dean’s jaw, “I didn’t think about it, Dean, I just – I wanted you, wanted you so bad. Your scent was so _wonderful_ , and when I saw you I just – I had to have you as my mate, there was simply no other option. I never…I never thought that you wouldn’t _want_ me, I didn’t realize that was possible, my father never told me things could go like that with mates. I thought…I thought despite everything, I would be enough to make you happy, and in the end that would certainly have been enough to keep you with me. But…I can’t even do something as simple as that, I can’t even make my own mate _happy_ , let alone make him want to willingly stay in our nest. I’ve failed.”

            “You – you could just keep me here, man, I really don’t have the luxury of a choice, here. I’ve got no way back to the mainland, not unless you bring me there.”

            “You think I’d just keep you here, against your will, Dean?” Cas leans up, looking into Dean’s eyes again, watery blue looking hurt. “I’d never do that. It would be wrong – if you don’t want to be here, and there’s no way I can change that…I want you here, Dean, never doubt that, I’ll _always_ want you here. But, I need you to be happy. Even if that means I have to take you back, I need you smiling and laughing and _happy_ , which…isn’t possible, here. It wouldn’t be fair to either of us to keep you here.”

            Dean squeezes his eyes shut again, ignoring the way his body seems to have gone cold even as a warm blush rises its way through to his cheeks. Fuck Cas and his stupid fake kindness, fuck Cas and the way he was so totally playing Dean like a goddamn _fiddle_. Because that had to be what this was – there was no way Cas was serious about any of this, he probably figured if he cried a little and played sad and devoted and _oh, I love you so much I’ll let you go so long as you’re happy_ then Dean would fall for him or would agree to stay or whatever bullshit Cas wanted from him. But that wasn’t going to happen, because Dean Winchester didn’t fall for stupid pleas like that. Dean Winchester was not a stupid man, and he would not be swayed but obvious lies and fake tears. Dean Winchester was leaving this goddamn island, and if Cas was going to take this charade of his this far then Dean was going to call him on his stupid bluff.

            “Okay, Cas,” He says, slowly, forcing the words out of his constricted throat, his eyes shut tight. Just because he wasn’t going to be played didn’t mean he wanted to _see_ Cas good acting – he never was good at dealing with crying people, and apparently crying seraph’s were no different. He can tell Cas perks up, though, his tentacles suddenly surging around his body, dragging over his skin as the suckers cling a little tighter, and Cas breath is hot against his face. “Take me back. I wanna go back to the mainland, Cas, I want this whole damn thing to be _over_.”

            And just like that, Cas starts sobbing again, and Dean feels conflicted – he was right, of course, Cas isn’t going to bring him back. The seraph never expected Dean to play that card, he didn’t think the hunter was capable of being so ‘mean’ and now Dean was still going to be stuck here, except with a _crying_ seraph who thought life hated him. Great.

            Except when he opens his eyes, Cas is shaking his head up and down, and ever so slowly he starts dragging Dean back towards the water, towards the entrance of the cave, and Dean realizes that, shit, Cas was either serious or he was taking this pretty damn far – how far would he swim out before he realized Dean wasn’t going to change his mind – would he turn around, then, and force Dean back, or would he keep going all the way to the damn beach before realizing that Dean was one hundred percent serious about his decision to get the fuck off this stupid island?

            There’s no way Dean is changing his mind, either. He doesn’t like it here. He doesn’t like fish. He doesn’t like sharing his food with Cas, or feeding it to him when the seraph is all creepy and insists on taking it with his mouth, or when Cas wants to return the favor and have _Dean’s mouth_ take food from his tentacles. He doesn’t like how Cas is amazed by something as stupid as a tiny fire, or how Cas panics whenever Dean gets too close and insists on pulling him away, or how Cas blankets him at night and lets off enough heat to best a heated blanket. He doesn’t like being restricted, how Cas hasn’t let him near the center of the island since that first incident and how he pretty much always has _something_ attached to Dean, as if to remind himself that the hunter is both still there and still within easy reach, away from whatever danger Cas believed this island to hold. He misses his car and burgers and his stupid brother messing with the radio station or snoring in the passenger seat even though they’ve only been on the road for _five damn minutes_ and Dean is tired out of his mind and could do without the reminder of how little sleep they’d gotten thanks to the hunt they’d just completed.

            And sure, maybe he even misses hunting, just a little bit – misses feeling like he’s actually done something, like he’s protecting the people he cares about, even if they are stupid and reckless and sometimes it seems like they just really _want_ to have something supernatural and bloodthirsty kill them. He’s sure as hell not doing any good here, right? He’s not keeping anyone safe, although he supposes Cas hasn’t killed anyone since he took Dean in – he couldn’t have, he hadn’t been gone that long, unless he snuck off while Dean was sleeping, and he couldn’t imagine the seraph being able to both time things that well and survive off of so little sleep. Besides, Dean would surely wake up from the cold, and he couldn’t believe that Cas would leave him vulnerable and alone like that.

            And yeah, okay, some of Cas mannerisms had definitely grown on him, and it was going to take forever and a day to get used to things going back to how they were, and this little break would probably wind up hindering him when he went back to hunting, because he hadn’t had much of a reason to work out. He’d never be able to enter the water again, not without fearing that he’d give Cas the wrong idea, nor would he ever be able to eat fish or do a shit ton of other things that would now all remind him of the damn seraph. The damn seraph who had managed to squirm his way under Dean’s skin, damn it, who’d managed to ruin Dean’s change of ever finding someone to love, because there was just no way he’d find someone as loyal and devoted (and weird, of course) as Cas, and the mere thought of screwing around with someone else was enough to make his stomach clench up in distaste.

            _Shit_ , he curses internally, before wondering why Cas had suddenly stopped. Maybe he wasn’t leaving, after all, maybe he was right and Cas thought that he was going to cave the second they reached the ocean – Cas was already peering back at him, watery blue eyes wide open and locked onto Dean, one brow cocked up curiously. It takes him a minute to realize that he’d actually sworn out loud, and by then Cas is speaking, his rough voice seemingly gruffer.

            “What?” Cas asks, and Dean certainly doesn’t try to commit the way the word sounds to memory, because none of this is anything that he’s going to want to revisit, ever.

            “God damn it, Cas,” Dean says without thinking, “you really fucked this up, you know that?”

            “You’ve told me,” Cas says, a hint of self-pity dimming his eyes. He starts to keep going but Dean digs his toes into the sandy bed below him, putting up enough of a fight that Cas stops and looks back at him once more, the question clear in his eyes – _what are you doing, Dean, I’m bringing you back like you asked, what are you doing_? And Dean wants to answer except he honestly has no goddamn clue what he’s doing, he just knows words are spilling out of his mouth before he can even think to stop them.

            “No, I haven’t, not enough, anyway. Fuck, man, you fucked this up worse than I ever thought possible. I thought I had screwed up relationships in the past,” at this Cas’ eyes narrowed, clearly not happy at the reminder that Dean had been with others, and more successfully, prior to Cas, “but , Jesus, this was like watching a damn disaster flick. You just couldn’t be _normal_ about this, could you? You couldn’t just, I don’t know, _ask_ or _talk_ or anything other than just _take_? You couldn’t just give me a goddamn choice?”

            “What do you _want_ Dean?” Cas nearly exploded, grip tightening as he drags Dean closer, the limited grip Dean had managed to grab on the sand proving inefficient in comparison to the strength of the seraph. “I told you I’m _sorry_ , I don’t know what else you expect me to do! I can’t _change_ anything, Dean, and even if I could – what do you expect from me? I’m well aware of our peoples histories – you never would have come with me willingly, would you? I could have done things ‘normal’ but you never would have stuck around! You’d be driving away before I had a chance to open my mouth. This was my only chance at keeping you – and it may not have worked, but that doesn’t change the fact that I _couldn’t_ do anything else. I _love_ you, Dean, and I just – I want you _safe_ , and my instincts don’t allow for _slow_. That’s not how my people work, and I can’t change that just like I can’t ask _you_ to change.”

            “ _Love?_ ” Dean chokes out, a panicked laugh falling from him as he gets dragged even closer, “do you even know what that fucking means, Cas? You can’t just _throw that around_ , you don’t even _know_ me.”

            “I do too!” Castiel yells back, “I may not know everything, but I know enough to know you’re the best mate I could ask for – you’re loyal and you care about others, you love your brother and you’ve dedicated your life to helping people who don’t give you any credit for everything you do, everything you put yourself through.”

            “I know you, Dean, enough to make my choice. I’m not overthinking this – you’re my mate, and I love you, and that won’t just change. I want to know more, sure, I want to know everything there is about you and I want you to know everything about me – but I want you to be happy, and if you’re not going to be happy here then I have to put your needs first.” Cas is panting by the time he’s done, voice dropping down to a bare whisper that has Dean straining forward to hear him, his heart pounding loud enough where he’s sure Cas can hear it, the force of it enough to make his body shake.

            “God damn it, Cas,” Dean breaths out, shuttering when Cas drags him a little closer, close enough where he can press a soft kiss to Dean’s forehead, one hand framing Dean’s face and keeping him close. “I should hate you, I really should.”

            Cas lets out a pained shrill, fingers moving to curl into Dean’s hair. “No, you shouldn’t - should never hate me, Dean, I’ll survive with you not wanting me, but-“

            “Cas,” Dean cuts off, “just – shut up, will you? Take me back.”

            Another sad shrill reaches Dean’s ears, and Cas starts heading further into the water, dragging Dean along with him. “No, Cas-“ Dean corrects, too tired to even dig his feet into the sand anymore, mind dully reminding him every time the bottom of his foot scrapped against the sharp edge of a rock jutting out from the ground, “back to the island.”

            Cas jerks, staring at Dean with wide, shock-filled eyes. “You’re staying?”

            “No!” Dean was quick to shoot back, wincing at the confused and pained look Castiel gave him in response, “yes – maybe, I don’t – _no_ , Cas, I’m not staying!”

            “Then…why do you want me to bring you back to the island?” Castiel said, slowly.

            “I don’t know!” Dean motioned to jerk his arms up out of the water, quickly reminded of the fact that Cas had him in a secure hold, preventing him from motioning at all. He huffed out, irritated, “just fucking _do it_ , Cas, for God’s sake, I just – just take me _back_ , okay?”

            “To the island?” Cas clarified, to which Dean shouted his affirmative. Cas nodded, and if he was at all bothered by Dean suddenly yelling at him he was good at hiding it, swishing in the water as he started swimming back where they’d come, Dean picking up his feet to make the travel a little faster and easier. He’s squeezed his eyes shut again, trying to make sense of the painful ringing in his head – what is he doing? What’s his big game plan, here? This might have been the only chance he’d have at Cas bringing him back – if the seraph really _was_ going to do it, now he’s going to think that Dean is never going to mean it when he says he wants to go back. He’s ruined any credibility his complaints and requests about going home would have had.

            When they get back to the island, he’s more than eager to brush Castiel off. It takes a frustrating moment for the seraph to understand his intentions, and at first Cas tries to cling tighter to him, confused and panicked shrills escaping as Dean attempted to push and tear his way out of the tight hold.

            “Let go of me,” Dean huffs, finally succeeding in getting some space, leaving Cas with but one tentacle on looped around his ankle.

            “But,” Cas protests, feebly, “nest?” Still, he lets the tentacle fall away from Dean, leaving Dean free to wade his way out of the water and start padding his way on the hot sand, his anger fueling him enough so that he can ignore how the grains are burning the soles of his feet and making his eyes water.

            “I’m taking a walk,” Dean says, simply. Cas squirms and grumbles, making to follow Dean before Dean waves a hand at him, brushing him off. “Alone,” Dean adds.

            “No!” Cas squeaks, “Dean-“

            “Damnit, Cas,” Dean shouts, again, “I’m going for a damn walk, by myself, so go back to the damn nest by yourself. I need to be alone.”

            “But-“ Cas wiggles, trying to get onto the sand and reaching for Dean, only to have the hunter step out of the way.

            “Cas,” Dean says, lowly, “I’m not above climbing trees, if that’s what it takes to get some damn alone time. Just go back to the nest, I’ll be back before dark.”

            Cas looks like he wants to protest more, and Dean is almost hoping that he does – he wants to argue some more, as petty and stupid as that is, he wants to yell at Cas until he goes away as huffy and irritated as Dean feels right now. He doesn’t, closing his mouth with an audible click and wading back out into the water, watching Dean for a moment from the comfort of the waves. Dean turns, standing with his back to him, refusing to give into the urge to look back. He doesn’t move until he hears splashing, until he’s confident that Cas has caved and headed back to the nest, and sure enough, when he finally looks back at the water Cas isn’t in his hiding place. He barely catches the end of a black tentacle curling at the edge of the entrance of the cave, which settles Dean enough where he feels okay to start walking around.

            It wasn’t that Cas watching him was creepy, or whatever – it was, Dean knows, or it should be, anyway, but that wasn’t what was bothering him. Sometimes, like now, he just really needed to be alone, and Cas’ eyes burning into his back made him feel like some sort of zoo exhibit. He wanted to walk around without having to hear Cas’ annoyed huffs or panicked squeaks if he happened to go too far away – and surely he would have been vocally, considering the first place Dean went after seeing Cas leave was the center of the island, running his hands along the bark of the trees that he’d been prevented from going near after that first incident.

           The bark is rough and scrapes against his palms, leaving angry-looking red scratches and marks that he’s sure Cas will be none too pleased to find. The thought makes him press harder, finding cracks in the surface to dig his flesh into until he’s aware of a slight slickness between him and the tree. When he pulls away his suspicions are confirmed – trails of red are leaking out between a few cuts he’s managed to tear into his skin, sticky and stinging.

            He scowls at the cuts, bringing his palm up to his shirt and wiping away the traces of his anger. He’d wanted something that would piss Cas off, and now he’s got it – certainly the seraph wouldn’t be happy that Dean had cut open his skin to the point where his hands were bloody. Except the stinging was an irritating pain, enough where he was wincing at the thought of climbing the trees like he earlier wanted to – he’s sure if he tries the cuts will keep opening up, and the blood will make the branches slippery enough where he’s not certain he’ll be able to get a decent enough grip to haul himself up. Cas may well be listening for any sign of trouble, any reason he can find to come after Dean – he would surely hear Dean fall, and he’d rather not have Cas trying to take care of him if he got a concussion.

            Instead he walks further into the woody circle, finding an area near the center that he’s sure Cas couldn’t’ easily get to. He plops down, leaning his back against a tree and hitting the back of his head against it as he leans back, staring up at the canvas of leaves blocking out the sky. It’s cool and nice over here, the shade keeping away the harsh beating of the sun. The grass si nice, long enough that he can pluck at it, tossing the ripped shreds of green into the air and watching as the slight wind carries them a little ways from him.

            As an after thought, he lifts up his hand and presses his thumb against the worst of the cuts, steadily applying pressure and ignoring the increased pain that results from it.

            “Fuck,” he grunts out, eyes fluttering shut as he relaxes against the tree. What the hell was he supposed to do? He’d ruined his chances of getting out – unless, maybe, he went back right now and told Cas that he’d thought about it and yes, he really did want to go back and maybe, _maybe_ then Cas would believe him and wouldn’t go about making things any harder than he’d already done.

            Then again, he might call Dean out of him – on how he’d wanted to go home before, too, and somehow he’d wound up talking Cas into letting him come back, and Cas would probably just expect that to be the case this time, too. Either way, it wasn’t likely Cas would be willing to make another trip out this close to night fall – he’d easily be able to talk his way into waiting until morning, and by then, who knows.

            Dean’s stomach twisted painfully, contents sloshing about and, for a moment, Dean’s worried he’s about to be sick – another thing that surely won’t go well with Cas. Was the fish he ate bad, he wonders, until, with a sick sense of realization, he realizes how long it’s been since he ate. This wasn’t food poison, couldn’t be – which meant – what was it?

            His head doesn’t hurt, which rules out most things. And it doesn’t feel like hunger pains, or anything else for that matter. But it’s still twisting painfully, reminding Dean that even if he didn’t know _what_ was wrong, that didn’t change the fact that something, indeed, was very wrong. Chewing on his lower lip, his thumb slides off his palm, smudging the blood trails into the rough callouses. The main cut, at least, has stopped bleeding, and the rest are small enough where he knows they’ll soon clot and take care of themselves.

            He needs to go home. Sam is probably going crazy, and he wants to get back before his brother gets some stupid idea about how to go about finding Dean (because deep down, he knows despite their promise his brother will sure as hell keep looking for him, and he won’t stop until he finds _something_ to definitively prove that Dean is dead. It’s heartwarming, despite its stupidity, and it’s exactly what Dean would do if the situation was reversed).

The idea, oddly enough, makes his sickness worse. His stomach clenches with distaste at the thought of his brother being stuck here – of course, it’s only rational, Sam couldn’t be happy that Dean was stuck here either. And it was made worse with Dean knowing what would be in store for Sam – the idea of some seraph stealing his brother to…to _mate_ with them was ridiculous and made his jaw clench in anger.

            The idea of that seraph being Cas somehow made things _worse_. His mind fluttered over images of Cas with others, other humans and other seraphs, quickly changing from Sam (which was just gross) to strangers he remembered from the streets or from past hunts or seraphs that his mind conjured up. As the thoughts continued his fingernails dug into his palm, cutting open the cuts on his palm again and sinking into his flesh, his teeth clacked together and he felt a familiar rush of anger cause a blush to roll through his body. He was indescribably hot, despite the cool breeze and shade, the blood trickling down his hand practically burning, and his head was now pounding like he had a damn bad hangover.

            Cas shouldn’t’ be with anyone else. Cas needed to be with someone else. Dean couldn’t expect to both leave Cas alone _and_ not have Cas go off and find another mate – how was that _fair_ , and he didn’t want Cas living out his life alone, either. What the hell was he supposed to do?

            Staying here was wrong. Cas was crazy, and he was a difference species, and both of those meant there was no chance of any stable relationship forming. Hell, Cas had set fire to that idea when he’d _kidnapped_ Dean. Not to mention, seraphs and humans apparently had very different ideas about relationships, and Dean had the feeling he’d be on more losing arguments regarding shit like that than winning. And, of course, he _definitely_ , _absolutely_ , did _not_ have any positive feelings towards Castiel – that would be crazy and stupid and reckless and just plain _wrong_. What would Sam say? What would _dad_ say, Dean not just apparently being _gay_ , but being gay for a _supernatural_ creature that was known for _ripping people apart_?

            What was he supposed to do if he left, though? Go back to drinking and hunting and one night stands with whatever chick he could pick up in a bar? Cas had fucked him over. His whole damn life was going to be spent trying to forget Castiel, trying to _not_ think about what the damn seraph was doing and whether or not he’d managed to find someone to share his nest with. Cas may be weird, but he deserved to be happy, and Dean couldn’t deny him of those rights over something so stupid. He couldn’t tell Cas not to take a mate and then _leave_ him. The second he left he had no right to tell Cas what to do, and he wasn’t about to pretend otherwise.

            Dean sighed and wiped his palm across his face, grimacing at the sticky feeling it left behind and knowing that he’s just managed to smear blood across his forehead. He’ll have to remember to wash it off before he goes back to the cave – he wants to cover at least most of the shit he’d been up to, give Cas less of a reason to get upset.

            It’s darker than it was when he first set out, the wind has more of a bite to it and the shadows have grown thicker and more ominous. Soon the stars and the moon will light up the sky, and he’ll have no choice but to head back to the cave, back to Cas. And he’s still no closer to knowing what, exactly, he’s going to do – leave, leave Cas and leave whatever this is and let Cas go off and find a new mate to share his nest with, while Dean settles back into his life of isolation, each day bringing him one closer to the hunt that’s going to take his life? Or stay, stay and he’d have no choice but to give himself over to whatever this is, whatever Cas wants, because he can’t stay here and _still_ deny Cas a mate – if there’s one thing he wants less than living life on the mainland and knowing Cas has a mate, it’s staying here and one day, meeting Cas’ new mate face to fucking face.

            He’ll figure it out in the morning, or tomorrow afternoon, or whenever – just not right now. Right now, he’s going to enjoy his last few moments of isolation, no eyes watching over him and no weight on any of his limbs. He’s no idea when Cas will let him go off like this again, and he’s going to enjoy every last minute of it.

* * *

Castiel sighs, squirming about in the cave, his tentacles lifting up and accidentally propelling water onto the stone ground. He stares at it for a moment, one tentacle drifting over and brushing at the water, spreading it around and watching as the tiny paths clung to the stone, the ground too flat to allow it to travel back down into the pool of water.

            With another sigh, he climbs up onto the bed, _their_ bed, which feels painfully empty without his mate pressed into it. He hadn’t slept in it much pre-Dean, only to see if it would support his weight so that he wouldn’t be set up for failure – other than that, he found it easier to just sleep in the water, where he could listen and keep guard of their nest and more quickly get out to pursue any potential threats.

            His instincts are screaming at him to leave the cave and go back out into the ocean. They don’t like that Dean is out of both sight and reach, that even now, with Castiel straining forward to listen, he can’t hear his mate. Would he hear if something bad happened? If Dean fell down, twisted his leg or any number of other bad things happened to him? Certainly he would hear if someone or something came _after_ Dean, he’d hear them splashing about in the water. But, with Dean on land, he couldn’t hear him or anything else that might also be on the land already. The birds or the insects that could still represent a threat to his fragile mate.

            He holds himself back out of respect for Dean – his mate wanted to be alone for the moment, and Castiel would have to abide by that wish. He was already more than grateful that Dean had apparently (potentially) decided to give him a second chance – he’d been so sure tonight was the night he was going to lose him, tonight was the night Dean was going to go somewhere Castiel simply could not follow.

            But Dean had come back to him, and even if his mate was only planning on staying for the night – that was time, time in which Castiel could convince him that he should stay longer, that they were mates and that he could make Dean happy. He would make Dean happy, once he realized _how_ to do that. If he could figure that out, he knew that everything else would fall into place – Dean would love him, once Castiel realized how humans went about making each other happy. He would realize that, despite being different species, that was no reason they couldn’t be together, and he’d willingly stay by Castiel’s side and warm up his nest and keep him happy and fulfilled. It was the way things had to be.

            Blinking, Castiel stared outside, watching as the shiny ocean water went a shade darker. It was nearly night – Dean had said he’d be back before night fell, and the fact that he wasn’t and that Castiel couldn’t hear him treading about in the water on his way back, left the seraph feeling troubled and conflicted. Dean wanted to be alone – but certainly that only meant for the time he’d been given, right? He’d said until nightfall, and that time had come, so he wouldn’t, couldn’t, get angry if Castiel came looking for him now, right? Besides that – what if he didn’t, and Dean was in some sort of trouble? It was his duty to make sure nothing happened to his mate, and now Dean was late and that practically _screamed_ that something was wrong.

            Without another thought he flung himself off the bed and out of the cave, popping his head out of the water once the main part of the island was within his sight. He peered about, frowning when he realized Dean still wasn’t within his sight – his mate hadn’t stayed on the part of the beach Castiel had left him on.

            “Dean?” Castiel called, weakly, still conflicted over his search for his mate. He didn’t have the time to waste on Dean being mad at him, he was nearly out of chances and almost losing Dean so many times had confirmed that he simply could _not_ afford to lose his mate. “Where are you, Dean?”

            He heard a faint mumble, followed with twigs cracking and leaves crunching, the sounds all making Castiel’s heart start pumping faster. He wouldn’t. Dean wouldn’t climb up a tree again, would he? He knows how Castiel feels about that. Dean could fall. Trees were dangerous and Castiel couldn’t easily climb up them and before he knew it he was up on the sandy beach heading towards the collection of trees, still calling out to his mate and searching for his familiar body.

            “Damnit, Cas,” Dean swears, finally coming into view, looking exhausted. His hands are behind his back, making Cas curious, but for right now all he can think to do is pull himself closer, until he can wrap himself up around his mate and revel in the fact that he is still here. “I thought we had a deal? No coming up onto land?”

            “You said you wouldn’t leave my reach,” Castiel reminded, nudging his head against Dean’s leg. “And it’s dark. You weren’t back. I was worried.”

            “Shit, I know. Lost track of time, I’m sorry. I was heading back, though, swear.”

“Mmmm,” Castiel hums, face pressed into Dean’s leg, words lost into the stupid pants he was wearing. Cas wants them off. One tentacle is already prodding at Dean’s toes and wiggling its way through to paw at his ankles, shoved under the bottom of his pants. Dean’s skin is cold, despite the clothes he’s wearing – it’s not enough to keep him warm, not without Castiel by his side, he’ll get sick if he stays out here frozen like this. He needs to get him back into the cave –it may be cool there, but at least Castiel can wrap around him and keep him warm, where he can chase away the chill that’s infecting his mate’s prone body.

            “Right. Doesn’t matter,” Dean mutters, voice quiet enough where Castiel nearly misses what he says entirely, “come on, let’s get you back in the water.”

            “Nest,” Castiel corrects, “we’re going back to the nest-“

            “I was, uh, I was actually thinking about staying out-“

            “No!” Castiel screeches, grip tightening around his mate. He surges forward, practically climbing up Dean, stopping only when the man begins to sway uneasily, clearly not ready to support such weight. He curses angrily, arms waving around as he tries to maintain his balance while Castiel gets a stronger grip on him and tries to push himself up so that Dean will have no choice but to grab on to him and hold him, and then Dean will have to take him to the water and then he can drag Dean back to the safety of the cave, where he’ll stay because Castiel will keep him safe and warm, and because human’s can’t stay out in the open like this where it’s cold and dangerous. Dean could die. “Cave, Dean, it’s night and cold out here and you need –“

            “I know what I need, Cas!” Dean cuts off angrily, “now will you get the hell off of me?”

            “The sand is hot,” Cas tries, blinking tiredly at Dean.

            “Thought you said it was cold out here?” Dean retorts, rolling his eyes even as he starts to bend down, arms reaching down and hands working to grab onto Cas, gripping and twisting onto his skin a tad painfully.

“Air is cold. Sand is hot, too hot.” Dean just grunts in response, finally getting enough of a hold on Cas to be able to hoist him up, tentacles wrapping around his mates stomach and back to anchor himself. He wraps one around Dean’s neck, bringing their faces closer together so that he can rest his head on Dean’s shoulder, breathing in his mates familiar scent and letting his warm breath fan over his cold, goose-bump covered skin.

            “I’ve got clothes, unlike some peop-seraphs.” Dean says, starting to walk forward, towards the ocean. Castiel relaxes as they get closer, confident that he’s going to wind up getting what he wants. “Air’s not so cold when you’re covered, Cas.”

            “You’re freezing,” Castiel chides, “if you can’t tell that, that’s not-“

            “I’m fine, man, relax.”

            “Once you’re in bed,” Castiel mutters, pressing the words into Dean’s shoulder and hoping that his mate doesn’t hear them. Knowing that Dean wouldn’t like them wasn’t enough to stop him from speaking the truth – he’d be much less tense once Dean was back where he belonged. He didn’t like going so long without seeing him, didn’t like this alone time that Dean seemed so ridiculously fond of.

            “What’d you say?” Dean asks, teeth chattering as he takes his first few steps into the water, before finally caving and just plunging in, dipping down low enough where his jaw brushes against the waterline. Cas hisses in disapproval, the tip of the tentacle wrapped around Dean’s neck taps at Dean’s chin, forcing his head back so his mouth is farther away from the water.

            He squirms his way out of Dean’s hold, wrapped around him enough so that he can pull Dean along, forcing him into the cave. Now that Dean was in the water Castiel definitely had the upper hand, and despite the fight it may incur – he was not letting Dean sleep outside. His mate was not getting sick because he was stubborn, Cas would not allow it.

            “Cas,” Dean protests, “come on, man, this isn’t really necessary-“

            “I’m taking you home,” Castiel responds, tugging Dean into the entrance of the cave and making his way to the bed, debating as to whether he should get up first and pull Dean up or if he should push Dean up and then climb up alongside him.

He glances over at Dean, who looks like he’s about to protest, mouth open and tongue flicking out against his lips, wetting them in preparation for what Castiel fears will turn into another long argument that ends in Dean demanding he be taken back to the mainland.

Whatever words Dean had been planning on letting out get lost and forgotten, however, once Castiel succeeds in getting them into the cave. Then Dean is all too focused on getting out of the water, and Castiel quickly decides to push Dean up first – his mates teeth are now chattering together loudly, small shivers racking through his body. Dean’s fingers fumble as they try to grip onto the vines so that he can pull himself up, and in the end Castiel finds he has to pick the man up and lift him up onto the bed. Dean makes a sound of protest, hand opening and closing as it still tries to grab onto the bed, even when Castiel has him lifted far enough where he can’t hope to reach it.

Once Dean is settled Castiel climbs up, careful at first to keep his wet body away from his mate. Dean’s freezing – the island may be warm during the day but at night it’s frightfully cold. Dean certainly wouldn’t survive if he’d had his way and tried to sleep out there in so little clothing. Castiel doubted he’d even manage to sleep in here, alone, without getting sick. He frowns as Dean rolls away from him, facing the cave wall, body curling in on itself and arms crossed, hands gripping tightly at his shoulders.

            “Dean,” Castiel prods at the man, one tentacle reaching up to poke gently at his shoulder, “your clothes are soaked, and you’re already cold. We need to get you out-“

            “’M not cold,” Dean insists. His body shakes a little more, though Castiel can’t tell if that’s from the cold or if Dean is trying to shake his head at him – if he is, his entire body is shaking with him, giving off the amusing visual of Dean half-rolling on the bed. Or, it would have been amusing, had his words not been so unusual quiet and his skin not so cold. Castiel could feel the icy chill radiating off of him even through his clothes, making him worry his lip as he tried to figure out the best course of action.

            He should have known better than to leave Dean out there for so long. It’d been cold long before the sun finally went down, especially with Dean still wet and taking refuse in the shades of the trees. If he’d gone out there sooner, this wouldn’t have happened – Dean would already be warm and sleeping, instead of shivering and argumentative.

“You’re shivering,” Castiel points out, “your teeth are clacking, I can _feel_ how cold you are-“

“’M fine, Cas,” Dean insists, “don’t need you telling me I’m not.”

“Fine,” Castiel snaps back, “but I’m not sleeping with you when you’re wearing cold, soaked clothing.”

“Then sleep in the water,” Dean says, angrily, “no one’s asking you to come up here, the water’s probably better for you anyway.”

“I want to sleep by my mate, Dean,” Castiel insists, the tentacle on Dean’s shoulder hooking around under his arm, forcing Dean to roll onto his back. Dean glares, though he’s so cold he can’t seem to muster up his usual seething anger, for which Castiel is torn between feeling grateful and concerned.

He casts Dean a forlorn look, shrinking his body down so he’s plastered to the bed, hoping that maybe if he looks small and sad enough Dean will give in. Sure enough, Dean hostility all at once seems to disappear, his face crumpling into exhaustion and guilt. Castiel feels only a little bad at playing his mate and making him feel so obviously bad – it was all for Dean’s own good, of course, his mate needed warmth and his stubbornness was keeping him from accepting Castiel’s help in obtaining it. If he had to make Dean feel guilty in order to properly care for him, he’d keep doing it.

Dean heaves out a sigh before moving to sit up, one hand already tugging at his pants. Castiel is faster, eagerly working at removing his pants. He’s gentler then before, remembering Dean’s reaction to having his clothes ripped off of him – though he cannot deny that he wants to tear these offending garments, too, wants to make it so Dean has no choice but to accept Castiel’s help to keep warm. Now he’s realized that he must wait if he’s going to convince Dean being naked is acceptable – his mate is too stubborn and foolish to realize that he cannot keep himself warm, and Castiel had no doubt that Dean would keep refusing to allow Castiel near him, even if he was without clothing.

            Lifting Dean’s legs up, he manages to tug the obstructive pants and boxers out of the way, swallowing hard as Dean’s cock bobs free from the fabric, soft against his leg.

            One tentacle and his hand twitches, yearning for the intimacy that he’s so far been denied. He wants to give Dean pleasure, to take and use him for his own pleasure, like mates were intended to do – it wasn’t normal for mates to wait so long before completing their bond. His father had told him many times – mating first, introductions later. The bond wasn’t complete until copulation, until the submissive had seed and ink filling them up, and the scent of their dominant coated their skin thoroughly and completely. His parents had mated within an hour after his father had caught up to his mother, and with his instincts still clamoring at him, Castiel could understand. He’d wanted Dean the moment he heard him, he was surprised that he’d managed to wait so long. That he was _still_ able to wait – even now, he wanted to stroke Dean’s flesh, different from his own but still, hopefully, similar in function and feeling. He’d learn, hopefully soon, how to give his mate pleasure and help him reach his own completion, just as he would learn how to properly make use of his mate to chase his own needs.

            He swallows again, loud in the quiet of the cave, and forces his free tentacles to weave into the bed, his hands gripping the vines as well. It gives him something to focus on, something to distract himself with so he doesn’t give in to his urges and grab onto Dean instead. He has the distinct feeling Dean won’t be willing to engage in intimacy so soon after their fight – and if his mate wanted to first sleep outside and then sleep away from Castiel…yes, he couldn’t imagine any advances of that nature would be welcome.

            Dean rolls his shoulders back, before rolling over and plopping back down on the vines, body bobbing up and down as he adjusts. Finally, he winds up rolled up on his side, curled in on himself to try and preserve warmth. Castiel humors him, waiting until he’s stopped moving to claim his rightful job, wrapping himself around Dean and moving him so that he could cover his mate’s body entirely. Right now warmth is more important than anything, leading him to shove Dean onto his back and cover him, pressing their chests together. He shoves a few tentacles under Dean’s back, cocooning him until his body is barely even touching the vines anymore. He rests his hand along the side of Dean, breathing out against his ear, until Dean turns his head and brings them face to face, their lips a breath apart.

            He’s really testing Castiel’s self-control tonight. He’d already been nearly overcome with desires – and now, with the way they were pressed together, Dean’s cock was pressed against Castiel, warm and soft. He dregs up memories of people on beaches, remembering the various ways he remembered seeing the males make use of their cock, the various names he’d heard it called, some more…unappealing…than others. A few stuck out to him – watching a man rock into a girls mouth, his head tilted back and his hands woven in her hair. Castiel couldn’t help but flick his eyes down, curious as to whether Dean would like something like that, whether his mate would object if Castiel were to slither down and mouth at his soft cock, pull it into his mouth and suck at him until he’s too blissed out to complain.

            There are other things, too, things he’d seen the same day he’d reaffirmed that it was not uncommon for males to copulate with each other. They’d found ways to copulate together, though Castiel wasn’t sure if it was for anything other than pleasure. Still, it was relieving to know that Dean has a place Castiel can use, much like female. He’d briefly explored it, that first morning, during his inspection, but Dean had gotten so tense and fearful he’d had to call it quits. It was just as well, really, Castiel wasn’t sure he’d have been able to stop himself if he’d continued poking and prodding at the hole. It was so _small_. How was he supposed to fit in there without ripping his mate apart?

            There must be a way, though. Castiel would figure it out, once the time was right and he was free to make his final claim on his mate.

 

* * *

 

Dean stirs a few times throughout the night, each time barely coming to. He’s awake enough to feel Cas constrict around him, and he knows he’s been moving around in his sleep – at one point he wakes up and can see Cas’ face. The seraphs eyes are closed, face slack, and he doesn’t stir even as he unconsciously tightens around Dean, keeping the human from waking up and wandering off.

            He just shrugs it off, figuring it wasn’t really bothering him – it’s not like he was going anywhere, anyway, and besides that Cas didn’t seem to be knowingly doing it, so it wasn’t like it mattered. And if he burrows a little into the hold, into the warmth that Castiel offers and the security he feels having someone wrapped so completely about him, well, that’s his own business. The next time he wakes up he’s facing the wall, but Cas’ breathing is still steady behind him. He presses his back into his chest and tries to fight the urge to squirm and twist around so he can face Castiel again.

            It’s easy to tell when Castiel wakes up – Dean stirs and find he’s moved again, and is facing Castiel once more. Blue eyes are staring at him, drifting lazy over his face, one tentacle rubbing between his shoulder blades. Castiel smiles once he realizes Dean’s awake, and without thought Dean finds himself returning the gesture, lips curling up.

            “Good morning,” Castiel murmurs, tugging Dean closer.

            “Mornin’” Dean replies, burrowing closer to the warmth of Cas, shoving his head under Cas’ chin and grinning to himself.

            He’s still mad, somewhere, underneath the safe and warm contented feelings running through his body. He still has _reason_ to be, Cas is a seraph and a murderer and every second he spends here is wrong and foolish.

            It’s hard to think about that when he knows, deep down, on some instinctual level that he doesn’t want to think too hard about, that Cas won’t hurt him. Cas won’t kill him, won’t do anything that would result in pain for him. No matter what Cas did, he’d always believe that.

            “Did you sleep alright?” Cas asks, tentacle moving from between Dean’s shoulder blades to start poking at the front of his shoulder, gently prodding at the muscle.

            “Yeah,” it’s a lie, Dean’s still tired and he feels like he could sleep the day away if Cas would stay put and let him, but he has the weird feeling that if he actually asked or told Cas that he was exhausted, Cas would do exactly that. Hell, Cas’d probably rock him to sleep or some shit like that, and Dean wouldn’t be allowed out of the bed until Castiel himself was certain that Dean was awake and alert. “You want me on my back?”

            “Please,” Castiel sounds oddly grateful, though Dean can’t place why until he’s already on his back and can feel tentacles start to rove gentle paths along his body. Right. Inspection, or whatever, Cas was checking him over. Again. Apparently this really was going to be a regular thing, and Cas was all happy thinking Dean had given himself over to it.

            So, knowing that, he should really start struggling or protesting or something, give Cas a reminder that he’s not some plaything or submissive or whatever the fuck Castiel wants. Eventually he’ll push Cas too far, and Cas will give up and bring him back of his own accord, and that time Dean won’t tell him to bring him back to the island. He’ll go back, find his brother, start hunting again and go back to his regular life, the life he had been raised for and the life his father wouldn’t look down on him for. Saving people and hunting things, the only things he really knew how to do. And Cas…Cas would go and find someone to share his nest with. Someone who would be better for him, better than Dean could ever be, an actual submissive seraph that would understand everything Castiel apparently had to do.

            “What’s wrong?” Castiel is pressed down on him, voice ragged with worry, and Dean finally realizes that at some point during his thoughts his eyes had squeezed shut and his body had gone tense. And, apparently, one of his hands had managed to grab onto one of Cas’ tentacles and was currently clinging to it like a damn lifeline, to the point where he thinks it might actually be a tad bit painful for the seraph. He tries to loosen his hold onto find that his fingers seem to have locked up, and Cas’ worried look isn’t helping things at all.

            “Nothing,” Dean whispers, fingers stroking around the tentacle he has trapped. It flexes in his grip, and for a moment Dean wonders if that means Cas wants him to let go – but no, it just moves in his hand, pulling up so that it can bend around, the tip of it stroking along the back of Dean’s hand.

            “Dean,” Cas says, unimpressed, “what’s really wrong?”

            “I-“ Dean pauses, swallows, glance shifting from Castiel to the tentacle he’s holding and back again. “It’s nothing, Cas, really, just forget it. Just being stupid.”

            “I sincerely doubt that,” Castiel assures him, “but if you would actually _tell_ me what’s bothering you, then I would be able to tell you for sure.” Phrased as a suggestion, but Dean knows better. Cas is giving him a chance to give the information he wants freely, but if Dean remains adamant in his refusal he has the feeling Cas won’t give up. He’ll keep bringing it up every damn chance he can, and considering they pretty much have to spend all of their damn time together both he and Cas know that as stubborn as Dean is he’ll eventually break and tell Cas exactly what he’d been thinking about.

            But he can still do things on his own terms. “There…are a lot of submissives, aren’t there?” he says, slowly.

            “I don’t know,” Castiel confesses, “I haven’t interacted with many seraphs outside of my family.”

            “You haven’t?” Dean says, surprised.

            “We’re spread out. We don’t interact except for mating searches, and those don’t require direct interaction. Just a swim by the cave.”

            “So if you haven’t…hung out with other seraphs, how do you know you wouldn’t rather have one of them as a mate? You shouldn’t settle down with the first submissive,” he nearly chokes on the word, collecting himself hopefully before Cas notices, “you come across. What if you find out later on there’s someone better, more suited for you?”

            Cas expression morphs from one of anger to concern so quickly it leaves Dean taken aback. “Is that what you’re afraid of? That’s what’s bothering you? That I would find someone else, that I’ll leave you one day for another seraph?”

            “I mean-“ Dean says, throat clenching and dry, “it wouldn’t exactly be uncalled for, you know? We’re different _species_ , Cas, have you even thought about this? One of these days you’re gonna realize I’m not _like_ you, and then what?”

            “We don’t take multiple mates, if that’s what you’re suggesting,” Castiel says. Dean swallows, again, and shakes his head softly.

            “Good to know, I guess,” Dean says, “but not what I’m asking. I mean, let’s say you go out hunting one day and find some submissive seraph and decide you’d rather be with them-“

            “No!” Castiel cuts off, insistent as he repeats his one-word plea, “No, no, Dean, that’s not going to happen, that won’t ever happen, don’t worry yourself over something like that-“

            “Okay, hey, Cas, stop,” Dean manages, voice growing with every word until he’s louder than Cas’ denials, until Cas has to listen to him. The seraph stops talking but continues to shake his head, lips parting it what looks to be a continued litany of silent no’s. “You can’t say for sure that won’t ever happen, can you? Shouldn’t you at least _look_ at some of the other seraphs, before you go deciding what you want?”

            “ _No,_ ” Castiel insists, “we’re not _like_ that, Dean, this isn’t-“ Castiel heaves out a sigh, one hand leaving Dean’s body to run along Castiel’s face, dragging down along his skin. Dean misses the warm and steady weight of it, though he reminds himself that he has no right to. He’s trying to get Cas to see reason – this is it, his last attempt, and he knows that at some deep fundamental level. He can’t keep doing this. He’s either staying or he’s not and he needs to _know_ , either way, and Cas is the one calling the shots here.

            So either Cas is going to decide that yes, Dean is right and he can’t possibly know what it is he wants in life and he’ll either bring Dean back now or he’ll go off searching for other potential mates and undoubtedly he’ll come back with someone (and that, that will fucking _break_ Dean, because he doesn’t want to see whoever Cas decides is better than him. He doesn’t know what he wants, anymore, really, his emotions are a mixture of confusion and he wants to stay and be Castiel’s mate because something about it feels right, but he wants to leave and go back to Sam because Cas is a fucking _seraph, for christ’s sake_ ). Or, Cas will keep telling Dean no and he’ll keep Dean here and that will be that, and Dean is actually pretty sure he might be able to live with that – he’ll have to talk to Cas, set some boundaries, but hey, who knows, maybe he’ll even talk the seraph into letting him go to the mainland long enough to tell Sam that he’s okay one day.

            So, really, he’s expecting a lot – a lot of yelling, of demanding or a lot of quiet resignation and recognition. He’s expecting Cas to fucking _talk_ to him, or to himself, to realize what Dean’s been telling him all along and to either say he’s wrong or he’s right. He’s _ready_ for it, ready to stop arguing and to just listen to what Cas says, and let things finally fucking end.

            In the end, he’s expecting Castiel to talk, and in the end, Cas decides to throw him another curveball, closing his eyes and surging downwards to press their lips together.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, originally there was more to this update. However, every time I started to put in the next section my browser would freeze up and crash. After a few attempts, I've been forced to admit defeat for the night. This means that there are two options for how updates proceed - I can do the one scheduled update I had planned (in which case, sometime over the weekend the final chapter would be posted. This chapter would be about 54 pages, or around 28k). Or, I can do two updates, probably both over the weekend (although depending on my work schedule I might have to do one on the weekend and one on Monday or Tuesday). I'm not sure what's better for everyone - one update would mean the text might be a little overwhelming, but you would have it all at once. Two updates would mean having to wait a little longer for the resolution, but the update would be a little less intimidating. Please let me know what you would prefer either by commenting or messaging me on Tumblr (same username as on here!).  
> Otherwise, I hope you enjoy the update!

He’s not sure what possesses him to do it. He just knows he can’t think of any words that will express to Dean just how _wrong_ he is, any explanation he can give that he hasn’t already given a hundred times already, and so he needs to find a new way to show him what he’s been saying since he first took Dean to live with him.

            This kiss is much different from their first one – though Cas isn’t sure he can count that one, with Dean being asleep and unable to participate or even _remember_ it. Either way, though, that first kiss has been what Castiel _wanted_ their first kiss to be like, soft and sweet and downright _gentle_ , an expression of love, something his mate had never and would never get enough of. It went against his instincts, of course, which screamed at him to take and kiss roughly, to shove his tongue between Dean’s lips and taste the man beneath him, to take everything he had to offer and then some.

            His instincts were happy with this kiss – it was rough, more of a mashing of their mouths than a kiss, as Cas surged down and shoved their lips together. At first they’re not even slotted together right, and the angle is uncomfortable and he can feel Dean’s teeth under his lips. He knows it must be painful for the human, so he works to adjust after his mind settles down a little bit. He tilts his head, fingers cupping Dean’s cheek so they mesh, his tongue poking out and lapping at Dean’s chapped lips.

            Dean’s not responding, though. It reminds him so much of that first kiss, although then he hadn’t expected Dean to respond, so it hadn’t been so soul-crushing. Now, it’s like someone’s stabbed him, ripped off his tentacles and wrapped them around his damn throat, suffocating himself with himself. He’s never felt a pain so intense, never wanted to curl up in a ball and just _die_ , like he does in this one moment, when Dean is so unresponsive and slack and cold against him, not even bothering to move himself away.

            He gives up, finally, pulling away from Dean with a soft, painful cry.

            Only to have the sound cut off, muffled by a pair of lips as Dean suddenly decides to surge up and reclaim Castiel’s mouth, restarting the kiss that he’d shown no interest in moments before. His sad, mournful cry morphs into one of surprise as Dean’s lips part underneath him, the human moaning softly, body pushing up against Castiel’s. Dean’s hands are in his hair, combing through before fisting in the black locks, dragging Castiel closer and keeping him from moving away.

            As if he would. As if he _could_ , even if Dean hadn’t been holding him in place his entire mind is short-circuiting, unable to think past the fact that Dean, his _mate_ , isn’t rejecting him as he feared. Dean is _kissing_ him, their lips are together and Castiel’s tongue has found its way into his mate’s mouth, it’s brushing against Dean’s tongue and tasting his mate for the first real time.

            Dean tastes indescribable. Like things Castiel has never experienced and can only hope to explain with Dean – like the middle of the island, dark but _natural_. The opposite of the ocean, his taste practically burns Castiel, like the hot sand on the beach, but the pleasure overrides his sensations. He can’t think to describe it, but he knows he wants more of it so he chases it down, shoving himself closer, draping over Dean and pushing the human into the bed, tentacles curling around him and dragging their bodies impossibly close, until they’re so entwined Dean can’t hope to drag himself away.

            He can hear moaning, though he’s not sure whose – both of them, probably, cries getting caught and muffled in each others mouth, and when Castiel finally lets them separate he can’t keep himself away. He waits until Dean drags in one desperate breath before plowing forward and locking them together again.

            He’s waited too long for this, and now that Dean is offering he’s going to take _everything,_ no more holding back. His tentacles are running over every bit of skin he can possibly reach, twining around Dean’s arms and legs so they’re plastered together, as little space between their two bodies as Castiel can manage.

            At first he doesn’t even notice it – he’s so caught up in the sensations, in Dean arching into his touch and the desperate breaths of air the two are taking in between frantic kisses. One of his tentacles had reached up, grabbing onto one of Dean’s hands and dragging it away from his hair – he enjoyed having Dean play with his hair, sure, but right now he _wants_ , wants as much skin to skin contact as he can possibly manage. The tentacle curls around Dean’s hand, Castiel smiling into their kiss when he feels Dean’s fingers start absentmindedly stroking the slick flesh, fingers running up and along and getting caught on the suckers.

            The palm of his hand feels weird, though – there are raised edges that don’t seem quite right, that he doesn’t remember being there during their last inspection. He pushes down, curious as to whether it was his imagination or not, and feels Dean squirm away from the contact, a small gasp of pain escaping into Castiel’s mouth.

            Which is enough to put a stop to _everything_. A flare of cold panic rushes through him as he jerks away from Dean, eyes focused on the hand he still has trapped in his hold. Dean inches forward, eyes still closed, a slight grumble falling from his lips as he tries to coax Castiel back into kissing him. The temptation is there, a strong presence in his gut that makes him yearn to learn forward the little bit that’s separating them and keep going, but this, he reminds himself, is far more important. Something is wrong with his mate – he should have finished his inspection before allowing anything to happen, what kind of mate _was_ he-

            He drags Dean’s hand up, closer to his face so he can inspect it better. Dean grumbles again, eyes finally opening, and when he sees what Cas is doing he groans and tries to pull his hand out of Castiels grip.

            “Seriously?” Dean mutters, tone obviously irritated as he huffs and tries again to pull his hand away from Castiel, “this is why we’re stopping?”

            “What happened?” Castiel snaps out. Dean might not have managed to pull away from him, but he had succeeded in pushing his fingers down into a fist, blocking off his palm from Castiel’s eyes. His tentacle had dropped down to encircle the man’s wrist, and now he has no leverage to use to pry open Dean’s hold – not without hurting him, anyway.

            “You _started_ it,” Dean says, and Castiel cocks a brow, confused. Was Dean suggesting that he’d managed to _hurt_ him? Another cold swell of panic makes its way through Castiel’s body, “unless you blanked out these past few minutes?”

            Oh. No. Dean was ignoring the subject, yet again, trying to derail Castiel with reminders of something that he very much wanted to get back to. He would not be tricked so easily, though.

            “Your hand,” Castiel says, patiently, “what happened to your hand?”

            Dean glances over at it, like he somehow has only just realized Cas is gripping him tightly and trying to gently pry his fingers up so he can look at his palm. “My hand?” Dean says, slowly, “what about my hand?”

            “You hurt it,” Castiel says, still trying to be patient, though he can feel it wearing thin. “You grunted when I touched it, Dean, now let me see.”

            “You _can_ see it,” Dean says, cheekily, huffing out a laugh even as Cas snarls.

            “ _Open your hand and let me see your palm_ ,” Castiel hisses out.

            Dean just rolls his eyes, unimpressed, and Castiel curses the fact that of all the times, his mate has to choose _now_ to stop being afraid of him. It’s not that he wants to scare Dean, but he could genuinely use some fear to get his mate to comply – he needs to know what’s wrong, and Dean is refusing to help him.

            He raises his other hand, drawing Castiel’s attention away from the one he has trapped, fingers wiggling and palm very clearly exposed. “Happy?” Dean asks.

            “Dean,” Castiel says, lowly.

            Before he can continue Dean rolls his eyes again, letting out a huff of air and what sounded like a low curse, muttering “fine.” One by one his fingers lift up, exposing his palm to Castiel’s sight, who quickly lifts the hand up and presses it closer to his face.

            “Don’t be all stupidly worried, though, man, it’s just a scratch. You’ve been getting all panicky over nothing.”

            “ _Nothing_?” Castiel echoes, “there’s _dried blood_ here, Dean,” his voice gets louder and more panic stricken with every word, his grip tightening until he knows he’s leaving sucker-shaped bruises on Dean’s skin.

            He couldn’t bring himself to care about those, though, not when his mate had been hurt to the point of _bleeding_ and he hadn’t even _known_. Hadn’t even had a slight inclination. He’d failed – failed to check his mate over properly, like his father had taught him and reminded him to do every day since Castiel presented, and because of that he’d caused Dean _pain_ and he hadn’t taken care of him.

            Well. He’d have to fix that right now. Dean had given him another chance, had come back after Castiel had started to bring him back to the mainland. He’d exposed himself, his silly and unwarranted but still apparently strong and very-much present fears of Castiel leaving him for some other submissive, and now, moments later, Castiel had already let him down. He needed to _prove_ himself, needed to prove his devotion and prove to Dean that he’d made the right call staying here, and that certainly wouldn’t happen by forgetting routine inspections or letting his mate bleed long enough for the blood to _dry on him_.

            He dragged himself off their bed, cooing in distress and ignoring Dean’s irritated grumble as he started to pull the human alongside him, tugging Dean over towards the water until he was leaning over the edge, his hand close enough to dunk into the bubbling pool.

            Dean hisses when his hand makes contact with the water, eyes narrowing into slits as Castiel massages the cut, cleaning away the flakes of dried blood and the cakes of dirt surrounding his palm and invading every minute line of Dean’s hand. His mate is dirty – filthy, of course he is, Castiel hasn’t even bothered to _clean_ him since he’d been here, he was truly being a terrible mate to Dean. No wonder the man had wanted to leave – he had to be better, now, had to do everything his father had taught him and then some.

            “Keep it in the water,” Castiel commands, letting his grip fall off of Dean. The hunter looks at him, a mixture of curiosity and irritation marring his features, as Castiel hurries away. He needs to find the box with supplies – one of the few he’d opened in the time before Dean, with things he liked or thought he might actually make use of. It’s off to the side, away from the boxes they’d been going through before, more towards the shells then the box wall. It doesn’t take much to find it, long only because Castiel has to keep yelling at Dean because the human won’t stop _moving_ , and Castiel doesn’t want the damage to get any worse than it already is. When he does find it, he winds up tossing half of the contents to the side, many smaller items narrowly missing being tossed into the water. Though Castiel knows he’d be able to find them later on, he doesn’t want to deal with the added job of sifting through the sand at the bottom of the cavern in search of things he didn’t even know _names_ for.

            When he swims back over to Dean he’s armed with soft bandages, torn cloth, bars of soap and small bottles of nice-smelling gel he’d been meaning to ask the man about. He tosses his collection up onto the bed, once more ignoring Dean’s hum of protest as he grabs the man’s hand and resumes his cleaning, for now focusing on getting the dirt and blood off the small patch of skin. When it’s suitably clean, he reaches up and grabs the bandage, pulling Dean’s hand out of the water and wrapping it up tight, stopping only when Dean lets out a hiss of pain.

            “There,” Castiel mutters, “that’s better.” He nods at Dean, whose still glaring at him like a petulant child, though with the way his body is leaning haphazardly Castiel can’t help but smile fondly at him.

            Another tug has Dean off the bed and in his grip, tentacles and hands both working to keep the now sputtering human afloat.

            “What the hell, man?” Dean gasps, body arching up in an effort to get out of the water. Castiel can understand why – while this water is much warmer than the ocean, it’s still got a chill to it, especially to a human unused to the water. But he needs to finish examining Dean, and while he’s doing that he should take the time to clean him up. A stray tentacle grabs onto the bar of soap, another one winding around Dean’s arms and lifting them up and out of the water, bringing Dean’s hands up to the vines of their bed so he has something to hold onto while Castiel works at checking him over and cleaning him.

            “Stay still,” Castiel orders. Dean turns, looking over his shoulder at the seraph, one brow raised.

            “Seriously? What happened to doing this in bed?”

            “I need to clean you,” Castiel explains, “I assumed you’d rather we go through this once, but if you’d rather-“

            “Clean-?” Dean sputters, mouth gaping, “dude, no, hey, I can clean myself, that’s not really something other people do for-“

            “You cleaned for yourself,” Castiel corrected, “but I’m here now, and as your mate-“

            “Seriously, Cas, we gotta talk about this whole balance of power thing, you’re not-“

            Castiel is under the water before Dean can finish his sentence, attention shifting from Dean’s words to his legs, as he decides to work his way up. Hopefully by then the man will have decided to stop protesting.

            It takes a bit to work out a way to keep Dean from kicking at him while still managing to have access to his skin, but eventually Castiel figures out the correct balance between tight grip and ability to shift up and down, and he can start his work without fear of Dean angrily kicking him in the face. Luckily his mate is too worried about the water to dare taking his hands off the vines, leaving him less body parts to restrain in his effort to do his work.

            After a while Dean stops kicking at him, thankfully, though Castiel doesn’t lessen his hold any – for all he knows Dean is just waiting for a slip up and a chance to slip out of his grip, and he refuses to let that happen when the human is so out of his element.

            He fights against the urge to poke his head up above the water, instincts clamoring to see his mates face and resume their earlier activities. They provide a compelling argument, Castiel hates to admit – why spend so much time cleaning Dean up when, hopefully, he’s only going to be dirtying him up again before the night is over? Besides that, Dean had just started to adopt Castiel’s scent to him, and now he’s going to smell like soap. His mate shouldn’t be going around without their scents _thoroughly_ entwined, especially when it’s the only true proof Castiel would have to offer anyone of their mate status. Dean has no bite, no stain, no _anything_ to show that he is Castiel’s. Any other seraph could swim up to their cave and demand Castiel hand him over, and he’d have no choice but to agree to a fight.

            Which isn’t _bothersome_ , exactly, he’d gladly fight anyone for the sake of his mate. Anyone who dared to threaten or desire to possess the human would face his wrath – and while Castiel was one of the youngest in the family, he’s by no means weak. Years of putting up with his brothers jokes and games had seen to that – and if he could take on them, he’s certain he’d stand a chance against whatever other seraph happened to come. He just doesn’t _want_ to, doesn’t want to be away from Dean or have anyone so much as insinuate that the claim Castiel has on the human isn’t real and permanent.

            It takes him a minute to realize he’s finished with Dean’s lower half – he’d been scrubbing the soap bar and his free hand into thoroughly cleaned flesh for who knows how long, the suds falling away and rising up in tiny bubbles up to the surface of the water. Heaving out his own string of bubbles, he surfaces, one hand landing on Dean’s shoulder to anchor himself. Dean’s head cranes back from where it’d been resting against his hands, still bunched up in the vines, his eyes popping open.

            “Finally done ignoring me?” His mate snaps at him, one hand releasing the vines in favor of motioning towards Castiel. “I can finish up.”

            Castiel shakes his head petulantly, “I’m supposed to do it.”

            “Why? Another one of your dad’s rules?” Dean’s hand is still waving at him, his eyes darting down from Castiel’s face to gaze at the water, focus shifting as he tries to see where the bar of soap is being hidden.

            “They’re not just my father’s rules, Dean, they’re instinct that all-“

            “Yeah, yeah, all seraphs,” Dean cuts off, rolling his eyes.

            “All dominant seraphs,” Castiel corrects.

            “Right. Whatever. But how many seraphs-“ Castiel shoots him a look, and Dean quickly corrects himself, “how many _dominant seraphs_ take humans for mates?”

            “It’s not unheard of,” Castiel says, in lieu of an answer. He knew it happened – it had happened in his own family, of course, but he wasn’t sure how often it was outside of that, if it was some genetic coding in his family that made them more likely to seek human mates or if seraphs commonly searched for submissives outside of the water. He couldn’t imagine that was the case – what would all the submissive seraphs do, then?

            “So shouldn’t you have different rules, then? Rules for humans and rules for seraphs?”

            “The rules are for dominants and submissives, Dean, they’re not based on species.”

            “Maybe they should be,” Dean mutters. “Look, I get what you’re saying man, I do, your dad taught you all this stuff and it’s engrained in you and whatever, but seriously? You can’t expect me to throw out all of _my_ rules.”

            Castiel pauses, looking at his mate curiously for a moment, “Humans have their own dominant and submissive guidelines?”

            “What-“ Dean groans, tilting his head back, “No, Cas, we don’t – humans don’t _do_ that, we don’t have dominants or submissives or anything like that, at least not like what you’re talking about.”

            “Then how do you-“

            “It just depends on the person, man, I don’t know – sometimes girls take charge, sometimes guys do, it just-“

            “How is that any different from being dominant or submissive?” Castiel asks, one tentacle wrapping around Dean’s waist, using it to drag himself closer to his mate. He buries his face into Dean’s neck, one of the few parts of him that still smells like their combined scent.

            “Because – because it’s not _always_ like that, you know? A girl might take charge with one guy, but then in her next relationship, the guy might have more sway.”

            Castiel wrinkles his nose at the reminder of multiple mates, the idea of others touching Dean displeasing to his instincts. “And then what?” He asks, continuing on when Dean tilts his head back and shoots him a confused look, “how do you know when you’ve found your mate?”

            Dean pauses, hesitant, and Castiel shifts around impatiently, his grip relaxing and tightening interchangeable as he tries to will his mate into responding.

            If he can figure out how humans determine mates, he can figure out how to finally get Dean to see him as such – and then he can claim him, and Dean will _officially_ be his, and everything will be perfect from there. He just needs to know what it is he has to do – and he’s so close, now, if he can get Dean to answer this one question –

            “I don’t know,” Dean says, finally, “I…I’m not sure anyone really _knows_ for sure, sometimes you just take a chance and decide to give it a go, and maybe it’ll work out or maybe it won’t. You just go with whatever you think’ll make you happy for the longest amount of time.”

            Castiel groans in frustration, not bothering to hide the sound, letting his head hit against Dean’s shoulder. Dean laughs, his free hand lifting up, apparently giving up on its quest to find the soap and instead weaving his fingers into Castiel’s hair, tugging gently at the wet locks.

            “Sorry,” he says, between soft laughs, “probably not the answer you wanted, huh?”

            “Not at all,” Castiel admits.

            “We’re pretty different,” Dean says, again, the reminder falling on deaf ears – they may be different, Dean is right, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t _compatible_ , and Dean seems to be confusing those two words up.

            “Is it – is it necessary?” Castiel asks, forlorn. His species didn’t condone multiple mates – but Dean’s, apparently, did, and if Dean’s did…then Dean himself probably did. And while Castiel wouldn’t ever dare to so much as _want_ another mate, if Dean wasn’t going to be happy unless he had multiple partners…Castiel would have to find some way to accept that, he supposed. He could find humans and bring them back here, perhaps.

            No. He didn’t want his nest filled with the smell of anyone but himself and Dean – certainly not others Dean relied on for pleasure, because Castiel wasn’t enough for him. He didn’t even like the idea of sharing Dean, of having another’s scent on him, having to smell it in his own bed would be impossible to live with. But he couldn’t let Dean go on land to do it, either, couldn’t let the man be out of his sight – he’d need to find somewhere else, then, another cave nearby he could take both Dean and the others to, or maybe he could find another seraph with a human mate and use that human-

            No, even worse. He didn’t want other seraphs near Dean, that would undoubtably end terrible.

            “What?” Dean asks, fingers stopping their soothing ministrations, Dean’s head tilting as he turns to look down at Castiel.

            “Your mating habits,” Castiel explains, “is it necessary to take more than one mate? How many do you need, exactly?”

            “How many,” Dean trails off, before a chocked swear slips past his lips, “fuck – no, wait, Cas, that’s not what I meant.” He takes a breath, eyes momentarily shutting as he works to regain himself, and Castiel fights against the urge to goad Dean into finishing his thoughts.

            “Look, yeah, we’re not one and done, but it’s not – we don’t all _stay_ like that, most of us try and find _one person_ to settle down with or whatever.”

            “I don’t understand,” Castiel admits, frustration building within him. Dean sighs, patiently.

            “It’s like – okay, so we screw around a _lot_ , apparently you already know that, and yeah, a lot of times it’s with different people, but that’s because it takes time and feelings change and all that jazz. Eventually, you find someone that you love, and you stay with them, so long as you both feel the same. Once that happens – once you’re in love – well, it depends on the people and the relationship, but it’s normally pretty much exclusive.”

            Castiel pauses, breathing out against Dean’s neck as the words make sense in his mind, turning over them and comparing them to the limited knowledge of humans he had gathered. One mate, then? Dean would be content with just him, exclusive, no one else touching him and giving him pleasure?

            He just needed to make Dean love him. If Dean loved him, he’d stay, and if he stayed and loved him their relationship would be exclusive and they would be _mates._

            “Love?” Castiel echoes, “how do you do that?”

            “How do you do it?” Dean repeats, amused.

            “What makes you love them?”

            “You’re asking the wrong guy, Cas,” Dean says, sighing again, “never been in love, wouldn’t know the first damn thing about it.”

* * *

 

Castiel gets quiet after that, which Dean is oddly grateful for. He feels like he’d let down the seraph again, unable to give him the information he so clearly wanted – the information Dean knew Castiel linked to winning Dean over, even though anything Dean _could_ have to offer him wouldn’t be helpful, anyway. All he’d know is how to sway a girl into your bed for one night, maybe more – and none of that was helpful here, because he sure as hell wasn’t giving Castiel more reason to assume he was a chick.

            His focus shifts to Dean’s upper body, and while at first that makes Dean squirm, eventually he relaxes into the hold. After a while, he dives back under the water to take care of Dean’s back, and that makes things a little easier. He’d already tried fighting Cas over the damn soap, and he’d lost, of course, because that’s how things seemed to work between the two of them. He’d have to have a talk with Cas later on about how things were going to work if he stayed – set some ground rules, establish what he was okay with Castiel doing and what he really would prefer to do himself, see what other ‘rules’ Castiel’s dad had shoved down his throat.

            He found it hard to believe that all seraphs were like this with their mates – how could any submissive handle this? Cas may think Dean served a purpose here, but Dean sure as hell didn’t see it. He couldn’t even take care of himself – Castiel had to take care of both of them, like Dean was a child or an invalid or something, like he couldn’t be trusted to take care of anyone. It was ridiculous and insulting, and Cas was going to need to get over it and see that Dean had survived on his own for damn near his whole life, and he didn’t need Cas doing _everything_ for him and treating him like some fragile porcelain doll. He was a _hunter_ , damnit, not a decoration.

            He tilts his head back as Castiel continues to work, staring up through the vines he’s got held in a death grip, focus shifting over the few bottles Cas had tossed onto the bed. They’re big, too big to fall through the cracks and hit Dean in the face, which is good, he supposes. But they’re also turned away from him, so he can’t see what’s written on them – just that they have some kind of white gellish looking stuff, stuff that he is really hoping is either shampoo or more soap or _something_ he can use to get the muck and grim and who even knows what out of his hair.

            He’d almost gotten used to being dirty – being dragged through the water got the worst of it off, and Castiel didn’t seem bothered by it, even though he had to sleep smelling Dean all the damn time. But now that he was actually getting clean, he felt like he could feel every molecule of filth currently on him, and his hair feels weighed down from all the grease and grossness. Tentatively he reaches up, snagging the bottle and managing to tilt it enough where he can pull it through one of the larger holes, tossing it gently as he turns it around so he can read what it actually says.

            Shampoo, _thank god_ , is his first thought. His next is wondering whether shampoo goes bad, and if so, how the fuck is he supposed to know? His third and final is _fuck it_ , because what’s the worst that could happen, really?

            His hair is already wet from being unceremoniously _dumped_ into the water, and he’s about to start trying to wash his hair when another thought crosses his mind, making his lips quirk up in a smile.

            Cas had made his opinions about Dean cleaning himself very clear, after all, and he shouldn’t go against that – it’d be wrong. He twists around as much as Castiel allows, legs kicking to keep himself afloat and arms twisting as he relocates. Castiel loosens his grip and pops out of the water with a grumble, droplets of water making paths down his face as he stares at Dean.

            “I’m not done,” Cas says, petulant as ever, and Dean just smiles back at him.

            “It can wait a sec, Cas,” Dean responds, “C’mere.”

            Cas’ eyes narrow at him skeptically but he shifts forward all the same, “Why?”

            “Just trust me,” Dean rolls his eyes, “get down in the water a little more, out of my face, man,”

            Cas is frowning, now, sinking into the water and staring up at Dean, looking so odd Dean can’t help but laugh. “Good, s’better. Hold me up, okay, I gotta let go to do this.”

            “To do what?” Castiel asks, seeming to perk up. Dean doesn’t respond, just waits for the familiar feel of tentacles clenching down on him, trusting that Castiel will keep him afloat. He lets go, the action easier than he thought it would be, and smiles when he doesn’t so much as bob in the water – Cas holds him steady, gaze finally shifting off of Dean when the hunter brings the shampoo bottle out from behind his back, clicking the cap off and squeezing some into his palm. He tosses the bottle back up to the bed, before raising his palm up to sniff.

            It still smells good, like flowers, which Dean attributes to the fact that the bottle had thankfully been sealed. He rubs his hands together, spreading the goo out until he’s got enough on both of his hands.

            “What are you doing?” Castiel’s eyes have widened, and Dean knows he’s moments away from throwing another fit, “I haven’t finished yet, Dean, I swear, I can _do_ this-“

            “I know you can, man, relax, I know what you said,” Dean soothes, smiling down at Cas as he tries to get the seraph to relax.

            “Then why are you-“

            Cas’ words die out when Dean decides to just go for it, plopping his hands down on soaked hair and scrubbing away, combing his fingers through and scraping his nails against Cas’ scalp. He smiles at the slight hitch in breath he receives, and the way Castiel presses up into his touch, practically arching into his hand until he’s pressed as close as he can get.

            He scrubs away, trying to think of what to say, watching as Castiel’s eyes flutter shut, the seraph’s hold tightening as if in response to the loss of one of his senses. They hurt, clinging to him tight enough where Dean knows he’ll have bruises – he should really look, after he’s done, see how bad the damage has already gotten. For someone who freaked out over a slight cut, Castiel didn’t seem even the slightest bit bothered by the many bruises and imprints Dean knew must litter his skin by now – probably because the seraph _knew_ where those came from, and didn’t mind Dean’s skin marked up by him. Territorial bastard.

            He hums in thought, eyes raking down past Castiel’s head, trailing over his body as he absentmindedly wonders whether the seraph’s skin would be easy to bruise. Would it even be possible? All he’d ever read and heard said that humans were unable to kill the creatures – he’d never heard whether they were able to cause any other damage, minor as it may be. He knew better than to think he’d be able to do anything to Cas’ tentacles – those were strong and he figured a shark could bite them with no lasting damage.

            But his skin? Could that be bruised, held too tightly or scraped by fingernails until red lines trail down? If Dean sucked and nipped at Castiel’s neck, would it do anything or would the seraph barely even feel it-

            His breath hitches and he chases the thought away without hesitation. They’d just kissed, that’s all, and yeah, maybe by staying he’d sort of suggested to Castiel that they were going to become mates or something, but that wasn’t – that didn’t _mean_ –

            He wasn’t _gay_. They weren’t going to _do_ anything, they _couldn’t_ do anything. Different species, both guys, it wouldn’t…wouldn’t _work_. For guys, two guys, he knew it could, would work – but not, not when one of those guys was a seraph and the other was a human. Did Cas even know what sex was? Did his species even have a way of doing that?

            They must, of course – how would more seraphs be made, right? But that – that would involve a female, which Dean wasn’t. Castiel might have said that male relationships with his species weren’t unheard of, but that didn’t mean they were liked or appreciated or whatever, that didn’t mean anything actually happened between them.

            Right. No. Just mates who kissed and who –bathed each other, apparently, nothing more. No sex. No hickies. No – none of that, nothing like that.

            He swallowed down a lump in his throat as he finishing scrubbing the last section of hair, hands falling away into the water, trailing back and forth as he chases off the lingering traces of shampoo.

            “You should, uh, duck your head down,” he says, his hands returning to scrub after Castiel hums and complies, body shifting down until he’s completely submerged. Dean’s scrubs are more absentminded, now, and when he’s finally sure that the last bits of shampoo are gone he pats Castiel’s head and grabs at his hair, tugging him up.

            Castiel surfaces and takes a breath Dean figures he doesn’t even need, his hands reaching up to grab at Dean’s shoulders. He pulls up until they’re face to face, startling Dean, tentacles keeping him from moving back in surprise like he wanted to.

            He opens his mouth, about to laugh or maybe say something awkward, he’s not sure, and it doesn’t really matter because Castiel smiles and leans forward and kisses him, soft and gentle and too familiar. Too much like their first kiss, when he was ‘asleep’ and Castiel was crying, too careful and sweet for Dean to do anything but tilt his head and press forward, letting their lips press against each others.

            He feels the blood rush to his cheeks when Cas pulls back, his lips still quirked up and his eyes shining in happiness.

            “Thank you,” Castiel whispers, leaning forward again, and Dean is prepared, this time, thinking for sure that this cleaning session is over – which bothers him, on some level, because he really wants to wash his hair but he has the feeling he’s managed to distract Castiel, but at the same time he can’t argue that hey, it’s been a while and he could really use some contact and getting back to their earlier activities didn’t sound bad, persay.

            But Cas tilts his head at het last second, leaning to nuzzle at Dean’s jawline, instead, and as always he manages to startle Dean by doing something completely unexpected.

            “Seriously?” Dean groans, trying to tilt his head away from Castiel’s questing mouth – specifically, his tongue, which is currently lapping at Dean’s skin, “this, again? Haven’t we been over this, Cas?” He jerks his head back, confident that he’s managed to get away from Castiel only to be chased down, and he quickly realizes that angling his head back to get away had been a poor choice – it’s left his entire neck exposed, which Castiel is gleefully taking advantage of, licking up and along his Adam’s apple and at his veins.

            “You smell like soap,” Castiel complains, the words cold against Dean’s wet skin, “I need to get my scent back on you.”

            “Yeah, people tend to smell clean after they _clean_ , Cas,” Dean jokes, hands reaching up to push at Castiel’s chest, “but, really, man, you can’t just _lick_ people, it’s weird.”

            “I’m not just licking people,” Castiel says, mouth drifting up and tongue running along one of Dean’s ears, causing Dean’s breath to hitch, “I’m scent-marking my mate.”

            “Right, completely different,” Dean says, voice deadpan. He’s hoping, stupidly so, that Castiel will pick up on his sarcasm and stop – and when the seraph doesn’t, he starts talking again, “C’mon, man, that’s enough.”

            “Your heart rates increased,” He can feel Castiel smile, pressed into his skin, a soft kiss pressed into his ear, “you _like_ me marking you, you don’t want me to stop.”

            “What?” Dean chokes, jerking as much as he can given the tight hold Castiel has on him, “no, fuck, man, that’s – that’s not true _at all_ , my heart rates up because-“

            He chokes again when the tentacle around his neck pulls at him, tugging his head back down until he’s closer to Castiel again, “don’t lie to me,” Castiel hums, disapproval marring his features.

            Dean licks his dry lips, eyes darting between Castiels eyes and his mouth, noting how wet his lips were.

            He didn’t like Castiel marking him, or whatever he called it. It was weird. People didn’t just go around licking each other – at least, _he_ didn’t, and he still really wasn’t sure what Castiel meant when he said scent marking. Or what the purpose of washing him off was if Castiel was just going to throw a fit and set to work getting him all gross and covered in saliva before he was even out of the damn water.

            “It’s fucking weird, man,” Dean says, finally, for no reason other than to break the uncomfortable silence that had spread between them. Cas stares at him with a hint of amusement, his own gaze drifting between Dean’s face and his neck, and Dean’s not stupid – he knows what that look is for, and even if he didn’t, Cas’s shoulders are twitching in an not exactly _subtle_ manner. “At least let me wash my hair before you get all – licky, scent-markey, whatever the hell you wanna call it, man. Feels gross.”

            Cas nods, excitement lighting up his eyes, as one tentacle trails behind them and searches out the bottle Dean has tossed away carelessly. He’s a touch impressed when Castiel so easily manages to find the damn thing, bringing the bottle forward and nudging Dean down at the same time. He mimics Dean’s actions, putting a little more shampoo than truly necessary on his palm, though Dean doesn’t bother correcting him. He’ll take care of it next time, because hey – he doesn’t exactly have an unlimited supply of shampoo, and he’d rather not have Cas waste it all so early on. For right now, though, his hair is filthy and the extra doesn’t seem like such a bad thing.

            He groans in delight when deft fingers start massaging his scalp, sharp fingernails scraping against him and ridding his hair of all the filth he’d managed to accumulate. Cas hurries, obviously impatient to be done, but he’s still thorough and dedicated, hands drifting over damn near every strand before finally moving to press at Dean’s shoulder, the only warning he gets before he’s dunked down into the water. A tentacle is clamped over his mouth and around his nose, and Cas scrubs quickly, thankfully taking into consideration Dean’s limited ability to stay under water. It isn’t long before he’s forcing Dean up and out of the water, hands grabbing at his face to tilt it up the second he can so Dean can breathe sooner. Dean sputters when he comes up, taking in a heaving breath and blinking stubborn water droplets out of his burning eyes. Castiel lets out a worried sound, dragging Dean up further and pressing his head against Castiel’s shoulder.

            “Okay?” Cas asks, worry clear in his tone.

            Dean sucks in another breath before responding, hands wrapping around Castiel’s neck to anchor himself – he doesn’t need to, he can still feel Castiel’s grip around his legs, keeping him from falling any further into the water, but his instincts won’t settle until he feels like he’s doing _something_ to avoid an inevitable drowning. “’m good.”

            Castiel hums in response, the sound reverberating in his chest and against Dean, before he starts moving again, pushing Dean up further. It takes Dean a moment longer to get with the program and realize he’s being pushed up towards the bed, and another moment before he manages to get his limbs to obey him and release their safety hold around Castiel in favor of grabbing at the vines and making things easier for the seraph. He climbs up, nearly kicking Cas in the face in the process, and winds up tumbling unceremoniously onto the bed, rolling towards the side of the cave wall to make room for Cas to climb up after him.

            He didn’t know when he’d gotten so used to everything, but he doesn’t find himself surprised when Cas climbs up and grabs onto him, pulling him closer before rolling him onto his back, so Cas is hovering over his body. It’s still unsettling having piercing blue eyes so close to his face, but Cas is smiling and it triggers a natural return smile out of Dean, and he can’t make himself complain when Cas leans down and tentatively licks at his cheek, the pressure barely there before he pulls away to inspect Dean’s reaction.

            Part of him still cringes at the contact – he’s being fucking _licked_ , for Christ’s sake, and it didn’t matter what Cas tried to call it, that didn’t change what it really was. He wants to twist his head out of Castiel’s easy reach and bring his palm up to scrub at the patch of wetness so different from the rest.

            He doesn’t, though. He pretty much promised Cas he’d let him do his weird little ritual, and what kind of person would be he if he went back on his word so quickly and easily? Besides, what kind of look would Cas give him if he did that – the seraph had a terrifying mastery of the puppy-dog face, and Dean really didn’t want Cas to get all mopey and cry because of something as stupid as _this_. It’s not like it was hurting anyone, anyway. Cas hovers by him for a few moments, shoulders hunched and eyebrows knitted together, before he finally gets it through his head that Dean isn’t going to stop him.

            And then – then Cas just fucking _has at it_ , like a broken dam, grabbing onto Dean as tight as he can without breaking him and lapping at his skin, tongue roving first over his cheek and then down along his neck, following his jawline and moving down. Dean’s fingers flex before gripping the vines beneath him, his head tilting back so Cas has an easier time fitting.

            If he’s going to do this, he figures, he might as well just _do_ it, rather than make it harder than it needs to be. That would only result in things taking forever, because he has the feeling now that Cas has started he’s going to want to get his scent over all of Dean, and Dean wants this done and over with as soon as possible. Hopefully this isn’t going to be some sort of regular occurrence – cleaning himself off is hardly worth it if Cas is going to be getting him filthy with saliva not even five minutes later, and Dean’s all for reasons that will stop Cas from doing this again in the future. He closes his eyes and tries not to focus too hard on the warm brush of tongue passing over his skin, or the cool wetness Cas leaves behind every time he moves on to a different spot. The contrast is odd, like a soothing balm, especially once Cas moves down and starts focusing on old wounds, giving them the same (perhaps more gentle, Dean muses) treatment as his neck. He’s expecting the pressure to send dull waves of pain through him, but Cas is careful enough where he barely has time to register the contact before it’s gone, and he certainly has no time to consider it painful or unpleasant, aside from the mild gross factor still wedging its way in his stomach.

            Cas keeps moving, and for a while the only sound in the cave is that of Dean’s breathing and the wet sound of a tongue on skin. The feeling starts to diminish as Dean gets accustomed to it, until eventually he finds himself drifting off. He tries to blink every once in a while, determined to stay awake – he wasn’t tired, damn it, and he didn’t want to stay in bed all fucking day. He had stuff to do, ground rules to set with Cas, and he wanted to do it _now_. Now he might have the upper hand, because he’d given Cas something he wanted – Cas would have to understand that, right? He could use that as leverage when he’s trying to figure out just how many of Cas’s customs they were really going to be following here, because it sure as hell wasn’t going to be _all_ of them.

            He fails, though, not even realizing he’s fallen asleep until he’s jerking awake to the sound of soft huffs of laughter against his cheek – his _wet_ cheek, he grimaces, his entire fucking face feels wet, and though he could pass that off as being from the bath, he knows deep down Cas had drifted back up whenever he finished and had given the rest of Dean’s face the same treatment as the rest of him.

            “You’re done?” Dean asks, trying to keep the relief out of tone. Cas just laughs again, soft even in the quiet cave.

            “For now,” he nods his head. Dean groans, shoving his face to the side, hard against the vines. “There are a few areas I didn’t manage to get to.” Cas glances down, and Dean flushes, one leg reaching up to try and cross over himself, grumbling when Cas just laughs and uses a tentacle to anchor him down. “I thought you’d want to be awake for it.”

            Dean’s eyes go wide as his body tenses up completely. Silence seems to surround him as he waits for Castiel to start moving – to pull his legs apart, to flip him over, to do _something_. He’s dimly aware of the fact that he hasn’t said anything – not yes or no – but he’s also aware of how it probably doesn’t _matter_ anyway. Cas is strong. He can manipulate Dean into whatever position he wanted, and he could _do_ whatever he wanted. There was very little Dean could do about it, aside from making a fuss and possibly ending up with a tentacle shoved into his mouth, as well as wherever else Castiel decided to stick them.

            “Dean?” He can’t help but jerk away at the light puff of his name against his ear. “Dean!” Castiel repeats, more earnest this time, rolling so that he’s hovering over the hunter once more. His eyes are wide and filled with worry, though Dean can’t think past anything besides the tentacle that’s still too close to his dick, and all the ones looped behind him and unwittingly clenching down on his ass. “What’s wrong?”

            “Nothing,” he lies, forcing his eyes to open as he shakes his head back and forth. “’S fine, Cas, we’re, ah, we’re fine.”

            “You don’t look fine, Dean,” Castiel insists, “what did I do? I – you were relaxing, what happened?”

            “I said it’s nothing, man, just – do whatever it is you want, ‘s not like I can stop you, anyway.”

            He doesn’t mean for the last part to come out. He really, really doesn’t. It was supposed to be in his head, damn it, and if not then it wasn’t supposed to be any more than a bare whisper, too soft for Cas to ever hear. He winces when he hears the echo of his voice off the cave wall, confirmation that there was simply no way Cas hadn’t heard what he’s said, and the crushed look Cas sends him back in return reinforces the sentiment.

            “You-“ Castiel starts, tongue darting out to wet his lips as he shuts his eyes for a moment, opening them only when he starts to speak again, “you think I’d _force_ you? That I wouldn’t stop, if you so much as _said_ -“

            “I didn’t mean for you to hear that, Cas, fuck, I’m sor-“

            “Don’t,” Cas hisses out, “don’t you _dare_ apologize, _not telling me would not make this better_.”

            Dean stares at him weakly, noting absentmindedly that all the tentacles that had been cocooning him seemed to have disappeared. He’s not sure what to say anymore – he wants to apologize, really, but not just because he hadn’t wanted Cas to hear him. Cas was right. He should have known better than to think – to think the damn seraph would _rape_ him, that went against everything Cas had done for him so far. He’d been a fucking _dick_ , _shit_.

            “Cas-“ he says, voice hoarse, “look, man-“

            “Don’t.” Cas cuts off, eyes squeezing shut again as he tilts his head down, preventing Dean from looking at anything but his hair. Dean opens his mouth and raises a freed hand, ready to speak again because fuck if Cas was keeping him quiet that easy, he was going to apologize for being a dick and –

            And, of course, that was the moment his stomach picked as the opportune time to remind everyone that Dean was hungry. Starved, apparently, if the loud rumbling was any indicator, and the way it actually made him clench down as slight shiver of pain ricocheted through his body.

            Cas’ head tilts up and his eyes flash open, a heavy sigh falling from his lips as he moves to get off Dean. One hand reaches up, finger outstretched, and Dean waits for it to hit his lips like he knows Cas is intending.

            It never makes it, just pauses, hovering in the air over Dean’s mouth for a few moments before ultimately falling away completely, another sigh joining the air.

            “I’m going to go get food,” Cas says, after another beat of silence had passed between them, the awkwardness almost making Dean start talking again. He reaches up, intending to grab onto Cas shoulder, because _fuck_ they really have to talk right now, he had just accused Cas of wanting to rape him and that wasn’t something that should be left to _fester_ , but by the time he moves to grab him Cas is already in the water, head bobbing above the surface.

            “Stay here. We’ll talk about this when I get back.” He doesn’t look at Dean until he’s nearly out of the cave, and even then he only turns back and glances at him quickly, as if reaffirming that he’s still there. Dean stares, helplessly, until he can’t see Cas anymore, and even then he can’t find it in himself to get off the bed and move around.

            Shit. What had he done?

* * *

 

Castiel stays out far longer than Dean was used to. He’s not sure how much time has passed, really, he hasn’t left the cave, hasn’t even left the damn bed. But the sun had been bright outside before, shinning off the ocean and clearly visible every time he looked near the cave entrance, whereas now there was little light at all and he could feel a familiar biting chill start to enter the cave.

            He couldn’t imagine sleeping here alone. Couldn’t even imagine Cas sleeping here all by himself and surviving, and the seraph ran hotter than a heating blanket. Soon he’d give in and get off the bed, go search out some blankets or some layers to shove onto him – or go outside, see if he could scope out where Cas was, as foolish as he knew the thought would be. If the seraph wanted to stay hidden all he had to do was stay under the water, and Dean would never be able to find him.

            As cold as he was and as bored and lonely, he couldn’t find it in himself to get up off the bed. The most he’d done was move over to the side, so he could lean his back against the stone wall and let his head rest against his knees, folded up as tight and as small as he could possibly get. His palm still hurt, it had probably gotten worse if anything because after what felt like an hour Dean had started picking at the bandage. Now it was wrapped loosely around his wrist, the cut on his palm exposed and bleeding, Dean’s fingernail having easily ripped it back open. That had been a while ago, now, though, and the sting was barely even registering anymore. The only reminder he got of it was when he clenched his fist and felt the familiar sticky feeling of blood.

            His stomach felt like a heavy weight, anchoring him to the bed, and his head was pounding. He wasn’t sure what it was from, anymore – he was hungry, yeah, starving at this point, and that sure as hell wasn’t _helping_ matters, but he knew it was more than that. Guilt was clawing at him, his mind replaying Cas leaving for the thousandth time, until all he could do was groan and shove his head down further, chewing his lip until he tasted blood on his tongue.

            Cas wouldn’t like seeing him all bloody when he came back. He’d probably be pissed, even more so than he already was. Dean couldn’t find it in himself to care. He wanted this pain, needed it, _deserved_ it. He’d fucked up big time and Cas hadn’t even stuck around long enough to yell at him, so he’d take whatever redemption he could get, even if it was as stupid and artificial as self-inflicted pain.

            Except then when Cas came back he’d have to patch Dean up again. He’d be all careful and gentle, he’d look at Dean like he’d been kicked again, and Dean didn’t want any of that. He wanted Cas to be angry with him, wanted to yell and maybe punch him. He didn’t want soft touches or bandages wrapped around him, not for the foreseeable future. He wanted Cas to know he was sorry, to know that he hadn’t been thinking, and to have those reminders for the future, and he wouldn’t get any of that if Cas had to fix him up again.

            With a groan he stopped chewing his lip, He couldn’t do much about the palm – he didn’t have the motivation to go hunting down wherever Cas had tossed the first aid supplies, and even if he did, he had no way of getting rid of the torn and bloody bandage. Cas had just put it on – he wouldn’t believe Dean if he were to say that it needed changing, he’d know Dean did something. His lip, at least, he could moderately fix, tongue poking out and wiping off the traces of blood still there. His fingers traced over the area, wincing in preparation, but the damage didn’t seem that bad. Hopefully in the dark Cas wouldn’t even be able to notice.

            Of course, all of this was assuming Cas even came back. He’d never been out this long before. He was only supposed to be getting food – that didn’t take long, Dean knew Cas was a good hunter. He’d prided himself on it. There was a chance Cas was staying out to blow off some steam – but even then, it was growing too dark for his liking.

            Was this it, then? Had Cas left him? He’d pushed too far, let one too many comments slipped, said something he couldn’t possibly hope to fix…and now Cas was leaving him to die in this cave? He’d decided to go and find some other mate, and by now he’d be so far gone there was no chance of Dean ever being able to find him.

            He’s just starting to panic, breath coming out in uneven huffs and eyes squeezing shut (his vision is starting to blacken at the edges, and for his own sanity he’d rather pretend it’s not going black, pretend everything’s fine) when he hears a soft splash at the entrance of the cave.

            It’s like a bucket of cold water has been dumped over him, his body seizing into movement as he lurches unsteadily to his feet, nearly falling more than once as he hurries towards the opening. The sickness is still there, a constant presence that seems to be working up his throat, though he tries to swallow it down, heaving in a few breaths as he tries to both calm his nerves and push away the lingering pain that makes his head feel like he’s about to explode.

            “Cas?” His voice cracks, whether from emotion or from the dry feeling in his throat he’s not sure, but all concerns about himself are immediately tossed aside once he finally bends down and gets a look at the seraph.

            Shit. _Shit, shit, shit_. The thought runs on repeat through his mind, hands already reaching out to touch Cas, to reaffirm that he’s there and breathing and _shit_. Cas looks terrible. He looks – no, _beyond_ terrible. The water he’s bobbing in is already stained dark with blood and he’s barely above the water at all, like staying afloat is taking too much energy and Castiel can’t spare it. He can only see parts of Cas’ face and his shoulders, and those are already enough to make him sick.

            It looks like Cas has had his damn skin ripped off of him. Dean’s not sure how much is thickly smeared blood and how much is definite, torn-apart skin, but the cuts on Cas are jagged and plentiful. He’s pretty sure he can see the bone of Cas’ shoulder, the sight making the vomiting sensation in him return full force, and Cas’ face is covered with a smattering of smaller cuts and bruises, culminating with a large slice around his ear.

            He doesn’t know how seraph’s breath, whether they need air every once in a while or whether water is actually easier for them – and that seems like something he really should have tried to figure out a long time ago, but now it’s a little too late. So he takes what he does know – Cas does better in the water being the limit – and doesn’t think twice, pushing himself off the edge and into the cold water. One hand keeps hold of the ledge for support while the other grabs at Cas, first tugging him in with his shoulder and then, once Cas seems to understand what he wants, he starts moving. Cas is slow, mostly just clinging tight to Dean, head resting on his shoulder and arms lazily gripping his hips, their presence barely even there. The lack of force behind his touches sends alarm bells through Dean’s head – he’s never felt such a weak grip from Cas before, so he pushes himself to get into the main part of the cave faster than he knows he should be able to make it.

            “Dean,” Cas mumbles, his name nearly getting lost in the meat of Dean’s shoulder, “you shouldn’t be in the water, you should be staying dry-“

            “ _Don’t_ ,” Dean hisses, reluctantly pulling himself out of the water, hopeful that Cas will be able to manage on his own for a few short moments. Cas seems reluctant to let go of him, gripping as tight as he can manage which, pitifully, is more like a newborn gripping a finger than a powerful seraph squeezing its prey. Dean doesn’t have much of a fight to get out of the water, though it takes him a few false tries (and Castiel’s not at all helpful tentacle prodding at the bottom of his foot like a make-shift ladder rung) to finally heave himself out of the water.

            “Where’d you put the bandages?”

            Castiel hums in response – or maybe it’s a word, Dean’s not sure, all he can hear is a faint sound and the popping of a stream of bubbles. Any other time and he’d roll his eyes, but right now Cas is _bleeding out_ and Dean’s not sure how seraph healing works, but he’s pretty sure nothing good will come if Cas loses enough blood to wind up passing out.

            “ _The bandages, Cas_ ,” he repeats, louder this time, fighting the urge to bend down and shake Cas into awakeness. He can’t see the rest of the injuries, doesn’t know how bad Cas is aside from his face and his shoulder, but he has the feeling if this much of Cas had taken a beating the rest of him was probably just as bad.

            “They’re over there,” Cas mumbles, titling his head a little to lead Dean into the ‘there’ he’s talking about. “Do you need me to rebandage your palm?”

            “I think we have bigger things to deal with then a small cut on my damn palm, Cas, now stop moving and just – stay afloat, damn it, keep your eyes open. I’m gonna patch you up, okay?”

            “Patch me up?” Cas repeats, one hand loosely coming up to fist the vines of the bed, keeping him from moving too much. It gives Dean a look at his arm, and he has to swallow down another load of bile – there are cuts all across it, and one particular area has sucker-mark shaped gouges in it, like the skin had been ripped off when the sucker detached. There was no way it didn’t hurt like a bitch – he didn’t know how Cas could even stand to have the water lap across it, let alone not complain in the slightest bit. “No, Dean, I’m fine, I don’t – I have food.” One tentacle slowly reaches up, two fish limply held in his grip, still flopping about and looking moments away from escaping.

            “Food?” Dean replies, incredulous, “Fuck, man, have you _seen_ yourself? What the hell happened?”

            By now Dean has the bandages, a bolt of soft cloth that he’s hoping is somewhat absorbent and a small shell from the pile he’d stumbled on that has enough of a curve to it where he’s hoping he’ll be able to scoop up water.

            “I got into a fight.”

            “Right, yeah. Well if this is you, guess I’d hate to see the other guy, huh?”

            “I doubt I could find all of him for you to see,” Castiel responds, truthfully, eyes flickering up as Dean pushes himself back into the water, supplies neatly set on the ledge.

            He pauses for a moment, submerged in the water, hands gripping the edge as he takes in what Cas has just told him. A few deep breaths are forced down to keep himself from hyperventilating – okay, well, whatever Cas had gotten into a fight with – it couldn’t have been human, right? No human could do that kind of damage to a seraph, not unless he’d been gone a lot longer than he thought and humans had made some startling advances in the art of warfare. So whatever Cas had fought, it was clearly dangerous and it was probably for the best that it was dead.

            Except apparently it wasn’t just dead, it was _ripped apart and spread in the ocean_ , and Cas would have to have done that and gotten the fish after he’d been nearly ripped apart himself, and _fuck_.

            Okay. Yeah. Problems for another time – bigger things right now, gotta focus.

            “C’mere, Cas,” he says, finally, reaching forward to tug Cas in when the seraph doesn’t seem inclined to leave.

            He lets out a startled gasp when he feels something slimy brush against his foot, and Cas suddenly, _finally_ , moves, jerking to grab Dean and hissing lowly, trying to muster up the strength to pull the human out of the water.

            It’s a fish, he realizes, belatedly, glancing down. The fish had gotten out of Cas grip and were currently swimming for their life, probably hoping that they could get out, although they were trapped here unless he or Cas helped them out.

            “You need to get out,” Cas urges, “come on, Dean.”

            “No,” Dean corrects, “I need to take care of you, you’re bleeding and it hurts _looking_ at you, man, I can’t imagine what you’ve gotta be feeling like.”

            “I’m fine,” Castiel insists.

            “Is this about the fish? They’re _fish_ , Cas, they’re not gonna do anything ‘cept swim around.”

            “They shouldn’t be near you,” Castiel mutters, dejected as he finds out that he cannot successfully lift Dean out, not with the man struggling and twisting like he is.

           “Right,” Dean says, drily, rolling his eyes, “well, you can have your little hissy fit after you’re not in danger of bleeding out, okay?”

            “I can take care of myself,” Castiel’s hands reach up, trying to grab the roll of bandages, though Dean quickly interjects.

            “Of course you can, I know that,” Dena says, gently, “but, I’m your mate, right?”

            Castiel’s eyes jerk to look at him, wide and filled with trepidation even as his head starts to nod.

            “Well, then, let me do what mates do. Let me take care of you, kay?”

            He gets another nod, Cas finally seeming to give up, his head lolling against Dean’s shoulder as he grabs the shell and starts to pour water over the skin above the water, cleaning off the blood as best he can.

            It’s a losing battle, loath as he is to admit it. As fast as he’s pouring water and watching the blood streak down Cas’ skin, more is seeping through the cuts to take its place, bubbling up and filling the lines with red beads that soon enough will join on the path already laid out for them. He does his best, though, eventually thinking it through enough to tear off some of the cloth from the bolt he’d brought over, using it to apply pressure to some of the worst wounds and to mop up the blood leaking out.

            He feels helpless – he’d helped Sam patch himself up, helped his dad, hell, he’d even had to patch himself up more than he could count. But their wounds had never been this bad or this plentiful – he’s fighting his way up a hill. As fast as he gets one cut taken care of the others are getting worse, and pretty soon he’s afraid Cas is going to lose consciousness and become deadweight that Dean can’t even pretend he’ll be able to support.

            “Cas?” he says, one hand reaching up to gently slap at Cas cheek, mustering up a smile at the half-hearted glare Cas gives him in response. “Need to stay awake, buddy, no nodding off.”

            “I’m fine, Dean,” Cas mutters, pressing closer to Dean’s warm body. He’s never felt Cas so cold before, his temperature going lower with every passing minute. “I can fix these myself, if you’ll just _listen_ and get up on the-“

            “I know you can,” Dean agrees readily, not wanting to chance that Cas will try (and fail) to force Dean into listening to him again. “But I wanna do it, and you want me happy, right?”

            “….right,” Cas nods, head jerking shakily. “That’s right. Mates need to be kept happy. You’re happy?”

            “Long as you stay awake, I’m happy,” Dean rolls his shoulder, forcing Cas’ head to move, not liking how the seraph’s eyes were fluttering shut again. “How ‘bout you tell me what happened, Cas?”

            He’s given up on the cuts around his shoulder – the water is getting redder by the second, and he has the feeling there’s more injuries that he can’t see, and he can’t afford to spend all of his time up here when there could be something much worse waiting for his attention under the water. He presses another fragment of cloth against the cuts, grabbing the roll of bandages and winding it around as tight as he dares before attempting to tear it. He twists it around anxiously, anger building up when it won’t easily give, before eventually giving in himself and leaning his head down to tear at it with his teeth. He nearly drops the bandages into the water when he finally tears it, catching it just in time.

            “I told you,” Cas says, irritated at being denied his desired sleep, “I got into a fight.”

            “With _what_? What the hell happened, I didn’t even know seraphs could have this kinda damage done to them.” Dean frowns, running a hand down along where Cas torso splits off into his tentacles, biting his lip as he realizes he has no idea what he’s supposed to do now. One of the fish swims by his foot, the presence sudden and startling Dean into kicking it into the wall, where he can only hope the damn thing dies, because maybe that’d at least settle Cas down a little bit.

            The best he can do is dive under the water, although he doubts Cas will like that, and even then – all he’d know was that there was, in fact, damage that would need to be taken care of. He couldn’t bandage them while they were under the water, didn’t even know if human bandages would do anything for tentacles. But he had no idea if taking Cas out of the water is going to cause some sort of bad reaction, if the water is maybe helping to heal him and taking him out will only hurt him more-

            “I ran into another seraph,” Cas says, finally, one hand reaching up to play with Dean’s hair, a hostile look crossing his features. “He made some threats, I reacted accordingly and I won.”

            “There are other seraph’s around?” Dean can’t help the worry coating his tone as he glances over at the entrance of the cave, half-expecting one to come barreling through right now, as unlikely as that would be.

            “Not anymore,” is the only answer he gets, though really, it’s the only answer he _needs_.

He lets Castiel play around with his hair, the moment passing by in silence as fingers curl and tug at the steadily growing strands, a look of concentration on Castiel’s face. His eyes are roving over every inch of Dean’s face, a steady weight that he can’t help but be aware of, like the seraph is trying to commit every minute detail to memory.

“I need to dive down,” Dean says, finally, only giving warning because he needs Cas to let go of his head (and to hopefully prevent getting pulled up before he can even hope to have a look at the potential wounds he’s going to have to figure out how to dress). Unfortunately, the warning only serves to increase Cas’ grip, the seraph shoving forward until Dean has no choice but to move, his back slammed between the rock wall and Castiel. Cas ignores the grunt of protest he lets out, Dean’s attention shifting back to the bandages on his arm, fearing that the sudden movement might have made his work come undone. Luckily, the bandage seems to have held in place, and there’s no blood spilling underneath to indicate that it’d come loose.

“No,” Castiel mutters, shaking his head gently, as if his reaction already hadn’t been enough of an indicator to his disapproval.

“Cas,” Dean whispers, trying to keep his voice level and calm, “I need to see how bad the rest of you is. I’ll barely be under at all, okay?”

“ _No_ ,” Cas repeats, “you’re not going under water. Humans aren’t supposed to – you can’t _breathe_ and I can’t-“ Cas stops, frustrated, not wanting to admit that at the present moment he’s not sure he’d be able to pull Dean up if the need arose. Dean could die, humans weren’t meant to stay under the water, they couldn’t handle water in their lungs, and here Dean was foolishly suggesting he go under when Castiel could barely keep himself afloat.

“Come on, man,” Dean groans, “you got a better idea, then?”

“Get up on the bed.” A tentacle pokes and prods at Dean’s foot, pressing it up in an attempt to get the hunter to slide up and out of the water.

Dean doesn’t move, though, fear and pity welling up when he realizes he doesn’t even have to _try_ , doesn’t need to anchor himself down or anything. Cas’ pushes are pathetically weak – if he tried, he could almost pass them off as nothing more than a particularly strong current.

“Not so sure you should be out of the water, Cas. It’s not good for you on a regular day, this won’t make it any better.”

“I can take care of myself,” Castiel insists, “I’ll be fine. I need to keep you safe-“

“Hey, look, relax – you already did that, you took care of the seraph, I _am_ safe, okay?” Dean rambles, trying to soothe Castiel, who has slowly become worked up, his grip tightening as much as it can in his weakened state. “I don’t think you should be out of the water, not right now-“

“I’ll be fine,” Cas interrupts, “you need to eat – I can hear your stomach, I’m sorry, it shouldn’t have taken me so long-“

“Cas!” Dean shouts, cutting him off again, “seriously? Food is not a priority right now,” which is a memo that his stomach apparently did not get, as it lets out another loud rumble, the tentacle that had been roving over the skin above it faltering. “We gotta take care of you first, okay? Fish ain’t going anywhere. Now just let me-“

“ _No_ ,” Cas yells, hands coming up to grab Dean’s face, forcing his head down to look at him. “You’re not going under the water, and that’s final.”

Dean wants to argue. Really, Cas can say whatever he wants – he’s way too weak to stop Dean right now, and he’s being fucking stubborn to boot. He was trying to _help_ damn it, there was no way Cas wasn’t in pain right now and you’d think the guy would want to have that taken care of as soon as possible, but instead here he was being all argumentative and throwing little fits about Dean can’t even hold his damn breath or keep himself from fucking drowning.

But Cas looks so damned _pathetic,_ all hot and angry but _exhausted_ , his hands already falling away from Dean’s face, as if the mere strength needed to keep them up in the air was too much for him to muster up.

And besides that – Cas seemed to think that his power was what gave him the ability to flaunt himself over Dean, to command the hunter and bend him to his own will. Now, with Dean temporarily stronger…he doesn’t want to encourage that any more. It’s stupid, but maybe if he shows Cas that _forcing_ people into letting you do stuff is wrong and not something that Dean is willing to do…maybe Cas’ll figure out the hidden meaning and he’ll stop using his damn strength against Dean all the time.

            Yeah. It’s a stupid thought, but if Cas doesn’t figure it out on his own Dean can always try pointing it out himself later on, next time Cas tries to force him to comply with his weird-ass mating rituals. Although – judging from the wounds and Cas’ apparent desire to continue harming himself, Dean may be the stronger of the pair for a while.

            “Fine,” he huffs out, “we’ll go up there, okay? But damn it, man, I swear, if you start looking any worse because of this I’ll push you back into the water myself. We clear?”

            Castiel lets out a huff of air that Dean presumes to be a chocked laugh, an answering smile coming to his face. If Cas was able to laugh than the pain couldn’t be too bad, right? Maybe his arms and shoulders really had gotten the worst of it, being closer to human skin than whatever weird substance his tentacles were made of.

            He quickly finds out that’s not the case. It takes a bit to both get himself on the bed (mainly because Cas won’t stop ‘helping’ although in this state he’s more gripping onto Dean and dragging him back down, like an anchor that he can’t hope to disentangle himself from) and to pull Cas up, who’s practically deadweight in his arms by now. Cas’ eyes are drooping, his lids continuously closing before he jerks back awake, until Dean eventually takes pity on him.

            “You should probably get some rest,” he says, gently, pushing Cas down onto his back so he can take a look at the mass of squirming tentacles.

            They’re not settled like they normally are, Cas too tired to bother with pushing them through the holes of their bed. Instead they all fall to the side, dropping off the edge and into the water. It doesn’t look comfortable, but Cas isn’t complaining and Dean doesn’t want to move them right now.

            His first thought is _Jesus fuck_. They’re a mess he can’t even hope to pretend to know what to do with. Some are worse than others, looking a gentle tug away from being pulled off completely, and some look like they’ve had all the black skin torn off, revealing dull grey underneath. There’s nothing coming out of the cuts, luckily, so Dean figures that these wounds just look worse. They’re not deep, not enough to start bleeding – the only thing that seems really bad is their appearance and the way they’re hanging too far off of Cas’ body. He tugs at them as carefully as he can, nervous at first as he touches the slick appendages.

            He tried not to touch Cas’ tentacles, before – at least, he didn’t do it _himself_. Yeah, Cas had often seen fit to grab at him with them, but that had all been _Cas_. Dean could count on one hand the amount of times he had taken it upon himself to touch them, and that was for good reason. They felt…not _gross_ , but definitely weird. Too slick and slippery, covered in something thicker than water but completely odorless, and even now they twitched and moved like they had a mind of their own.

            He nearly screams when he drags his fingers down one of them and it _moves_ , breaking clear off of Castiel’s torso and collapsing limply.

            “ _Shit_ ,” He curses, torn between trying to stay calm for Cas’ sake (he’d just torn off a _limb_ , _fuck_ ) and panicking because _shit he just tore off one of Cas’ tentacles, fuck_. Cas turns to look at him, head tilting down so he can watch the hunter and see what the commotion was about.

            “It’s fine,” he says, simply, smiling at Dean to reassure him, “it will grow back, in time. They’ve been injured, they’re supposed to tear off like that.”

            “I-“ Dean responds, dumbly, “what?”

            “Injuries like these will not heal well. It’s easier to lose the tentacle, and let another take its place. This is common, Dean, I’ve lost many before.”

            “You molt?” Dean squeaks out, “like, like with shark teeth, or something? You just – _lose an arm_ and what, don’t feel it?”

            “It tickles,” Cas replies, deadpan.

            It takes Dean a moment, staring straight at Castiel and holding the disconnected tentacle tight in his hands (because, hey, he doesn’t have to worry about holding it too tight and unintentionally causing Castiel pain anymore) before he starts laughing, nervous huffs of air slowly working their way up into full-blown, red-faced laughs. He drops the tentacle in favor of pushing his head into his hands, covering his face as a mixture of laughing and embarrassment makes his cheeks flush.

            It’s like a floodgate has been opened, all the worry and terror and emotions Dean had shoved down and bottled up now bubbling up and over the surface, too much to hope to be able to cork back up and forget about. He can’t stop laughing, even though his chest hurts and breathing is painful and he’s not even sure if he’s laughing because it’s funny or because he’s just so fucking overwhelmed.

            Cas seems to understand him better than he does. It takes a few jabs for Dean to recognize that a tentacle is poking at his face, prodding at him and trying to pull his arms down. When he puts it together he complies, hands falling away and face tilting up to look at Cas, whose staring at him with open concern. He can see the flares of pain on his face, knows that the movement had been anything but pleasant, but despite that Cas doesn’t seem inclined to stop, another tentacle reaching up to brush along his cheeks, running along wet paths that Dean hadn’t been aware of.

            He’s got an excuse at the ready – sometimes people cried when they laughed too hard, it wasn’t anything unusual, but one hard look from Cas has him shutting up, the explanation dying on his tongue until he can’t even remember what he lie he was going to feed the seraph.

            Eventually the need to finish his job makes him swallow and reach up, pulling Cas off of him so that he can move and get back to work. He ignores the pained shrill of protest he gets in response, instead continuing his task of running his hands along the tentacles. He’s already lost his place, so he decides to just start again – better to be thorough than to forget to check and risk having Cas get an infection. But with the tentacles squirming around and blending together, and with no way to push them off to the side when he’s done, the task is daunting and possibly even impossible. He’s no idea whether the tentacles currently pressing at his hands are ones that he hasn’t checked over yet or if they’re just Cas’ way of trying to get his attention back, since Dean was all too happy to ignore each time his name was said.

            He doesn’t want to talk right now. He wants to work, wants to take care of Cas and patch him up, except Cas isn’t human and Dean’s at a loss as to what he’s supposed to do here. He has no idea which tentacles are bad enough where they should come off and which ones are in good enough shape where he can maybe just fix them up – hell, he doesn’t even know _how_ to go about fixing them up. The bandages wouldn’t help, there’s no way to get anything to stick to something as wet as Cas’ tentacles – at least the skin could be kept out of the water, but the rest of him seemed to be constantly wet no matter what he did. Nothing Dean could do would stay in place, and he wasn’t sure what would wind up irritating the skin or causing the black covering to not heal properly.

            “Dean,” Cas attempts to get his attention are getting louder, and the more he’s ignored the more tentacles wind up batting at Dean’s hand, suckers clinging to his fingers and keeping him from shaking them off when he tries to continue his job. “ _Dean!_ ”

            This, apparently, was the final time Cas would allow himself to be ignored, as he practically falls forward, straight onto Dean’s lap. His head hits against Dean’s shoulder hard, the weight of him sudden and unexpected and nearly making Dean tumble back into the water, the only thing stopping him were a few well-placed tentacles that managed to grab at his back, tightening up with more strength that he had figured the seraph had and keeping him arched back, but out of the water.

            “Damn it, Cas,” he curses, grumbling as he attempts to right himself. It’s hard, Cas is too much of a weight and too awkwardly spread on him to allow him much movement, and so he eventually settles for sliding his butt forward so he’s at least less close to the ledge. If Cas’ strength does fail him, he’d rather not tumble backwards and get soaking wet again – he’s cold as it is, the dampness of the cave making his muscles ache with stiffness. The coldness of the water surely wouldn’t do him any favors.

            “What?” He tries not to let any more anger color his tone, though he doubt’s he was very successful.

            “You weren’t answering me,” Cas says, calmly, tilting his head up and pressing his cheek against Dean’s shoulder, staring up at the hunter.

            “Yeah, well, you got my attention now. What is it?”

            “You’re crying.” And, right, of course Cas would just be blunt and cut straight to the point in this – he couldn’t just _let it go_ and accept the fact that Dean really, really didn’t want to talk about this. “Why are you – what did I do wrong?” Cas is staring at him worriedly, his blue eyes roving over Dean’s face like he might be able to discern the answer by mapping out his features. Dean can’t help but roll his eyes and shake his head, one hand reaching around to pat Cas’ back as gently as he can.

            “You didn’t do anything wrong, Cas,” he reassures, “’s nothing for you to be worried about, okay?”

            “You’re my mate,” Cas insists, shaking his head now, “if you are upset, I should be worried –“

            “But I’m not upset!” Dean says, too quick for even his own liking as he cuts Cas off. “I’m not upset, okay, I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

            “I already told you, I’m fine-“

            “And I already told you I’m not upset, but apparently _neither_ of us trusts the other, huh?”

            Cas is quiet, now, gaze lowering and Dean tries to push him away so he can resume his work. He has the feeling this is going to wind up being an all-night job, especially if Cas insists on constantly interrupting and making him completely lose his place.

            It’s that realization that makes him finally give – he’s hungry and tired and cold, and he doesn’t want to be up all night fooling around and doing stuff that he’s not even sure is ultimately going to be helpful.

            “You wanna tell me what I’m supposed to be doing here?” Dean asks, hand stroking down a tentacle.

            “Hmm?” Cas hums in response. The tentacle Dean had been holding twists and turns until the suckers can cling to his palm, gently holding him before pulling off his skin, each one briefly clinging to his hand before he continues on his path.

            “Your tentacles,” Dean explains, “I’m…I’m not really sure, exactly, what I should be doing? Do you bandage them, or what?”

            “Just keep doing what you’re doing,” Cas whispers, frowning when Dean’s hand reaches the tip of the tentacle and pulls away, hovering before selecting a new one, “we just need to find the damaged ones, pull them off. The rest will heal on its own, naturally.”

            “What happens if they don’t get pulled off?” Dean asks, curious.

            “I’d risk infection,” Cas confesses, “though normally the new tentacle would push it off before that would happen.”

            Dean grunts in acknowledgement, not really sure how else to respond, and doubles up on his efforts. He’s more focused now on tugging at them, gentle as he can while still making sure that if they are loose they’ll come off. His hands are itching to go back to their previous work, still wanting to know just how badly damaged Cas had gotten in his stupid fight, but he can do that later – when this job was taken care of and they had eaten and hell, maybe even gotten in some sleep or something. Cas starts helping him, after a while, his own hands joining Dean’s. He seems to have more of a knack for things – Dean’s not sure if he can feel which tentacles need to be taken care of or if he can tell by sight, but it seems like every one Cas touches winds up being pulled away, a slight hiss occasionally accompanying some of the ones that Dean can only assume to have been borderline, like a tooth still partially attached being yanked out of a man’s mouth.

            “There aren’t any more,” Cas says, breaking the silence. It snaps Dean’s attention away from the tentacle he’d been holding, though his fingers remain clasped around it, and he nods his head.

            “You’re sure?”

            “I am,” Cas says, smiling. The losses make up a small black pile, cold and unmoving and uncomfortable to look at. He stares pointedly at them before glancing back over at Cas, hoping his silent question will be understood.

            “They can be tossed into the ocean,” Cas says, “they will sink and other scavengers will use them as sustenance.”

Dean grimaces, staring at the pile with unmasked distaste. He’s not sure how long it’ll take for them to start decomposing and he really doesn’t want to risk having to smell rotting tentacles. Which means they’ll have to be taken care of tonight – and considering Cas was still in no shape to move around, Dean would have to grab them all and toss them out. The idea of touching tentacles had been unappealing – detached, cold and lifeless ones a thousand times more.

He frowns, sensing another fight to come – Cas isn’t going to want to sit in the cave while Dean goes out to toss these away. He’s going to insist on helping, and Dean’s going to turn him down because a – Cas isn’t much help, he’d probably just wind up curling around Dean and tripping him and getting as much in the way as possible, and b, even if he _could_ help, he’s still weak and tired and the best thing for him right now would be to rest and maybe eat something. Moving around is only likely to tear his injuries open again, and Dean did not spend all that time bandaging him up just for Cas to get the cloth soaked and ruined and the cuts bleeding once more.

He could probably win this fight – although Cas strength is coming back remarkably fast. If the seraph could argue long enough, he’d probably recover enough to hold Dean down and force him to either stay or let Cas come with him.

Turning towards Cas, he startles when he realizes the seraph isn’t where he’d left him. Cas had crawled closer to the ledge, peering down into the water and leaning dangerously far, too close to falling in for Dean’s comfort. A tentacle suddenly snaps down and pierces the surface, splashing droplets of water up onto the ledge. When it resurfaces, there’s a fish tight in its grip, and Dean rolls his eyes. Of course, Cas couldn’t just leave the damn fish alone for the time being – he probably still didn’t like them swimming around so close to Dean, the territorial bastard.

“Seriously, Cas?” Dean says, “You need to sleep.”

“You’re hungry.”

He’s about to deny it, though he knows Cas heard his stomach growl earlier and any denies he makes will quickly be refuted, with Cas probably getting mad about Dean lying to him and insisting on eating. His stomach, however, chooses that moment to growl again, causing the sentence to die on Dean’s tongue. He deflates slightly before forcing his shoulders to straighten, watching as Cas deposits the flopping fish behind him and looks down for the other one.

“We can eat in a couple of hours, man, after a quick power nap. It’ll make you feel better, promise.”

“I can’t leave you hungry-“

“I’ll wake you up if it gets too bad, or you’ll hear, right? S’not like I can hide that from you, and we’ll only be sleeping for a little while.”

Cas frowns at the water, tentacle snapping into it and nabbing the final fish, dropping it with the other, now still on the stone. “I suppose we could sleep, briefly,” he concedes. He stares pointedly at the bed, one tentacle reaching out to wrap around Dean’s ankle, clearly intending to try and pull him towards the bed. Dean tenses and shakes Castiel’s grip off, ignoring the hurt and confused look he gets in response.

“I’m just gonna grab some cloth from the boxes, make sure we have some on hand in case your wounds open up again, okay? You get into bed and I’ll be there in a second.”

Cas doesn’t look happy, staring at Dean like he might be able to glare him into submission.

“I’ll be right over there, Cas, I’d rather not have to stumble my way over when I’m barely awake if something happens and we need them.”

“Nothing will happen,” Cas insists, “come to bed. I can’t fall asleep without you there.”

Dean smiles, an automatic response to try and soothe Cas, “well, I’ll only be over there for a couple of minutes, at the most. Then you can go to sleep, okay? I just wanna be prepared – it’ll help me sleep easier. Won’t be able to fall asleep if I’m all stressed out, right?”

Cas glances down, fidgeting with a tentacle as he nods softly. “Right. Whatever will make you happy.” He says, glancing up at Dean nervously.

Dean knows he’s expecting anger – he’d always gotten mad when Cas had said things like that, and now that Cas is weaker, he probably figures the hunter will snap and throw a full on fit.

He seems perplexed when he doesn’t get one, the strain of his shoulders collapsing and his head turning away as he crawls his way into bed. He practically falls face first once he gets there, head turning in the nick of time to keep him from face planting.

            Dean can feel his eyes on his back, tracking his every movement as he heads towards the pile of barrels and boxes, absentmindedly combing through them.

            He doesn’t really need anything over here. Sure, it’d probably be useful to grab some more bandages just in case, but that really wasn’t anything that couldn’t wait until after. It’s not like he wasn’t experienced when it came to emergency wakeups for the sake of bandaging life-threatening wounds before – he could probably do a pretty decent job while he was still asleep, if it came down to it.

            He keeps up the pretense, though, grabbing out a bolt of heavy cloth and setting it against the wall. He’ll have to figure out some way to tear it later – it’s thick, and he has the feeling his hands aren’t going to cut it. Cas may be able to tear it into segments, but if Cas is the one he’s bandaging…

            But, hopefully, Cas shouldn’t be doing anything strenuous enough where those bandages would open up and require immediate care. They should be good until morning. He keeps sorting through the boxes, mostly just running his hands along the fabrics and occasionally moving them just to make some kind of noise. He could hear Cas moving behind him, trying to get comfortable or trying to stay awake he wasn’t sure – but he didn’t turn around until the noise stopped, until he was pretty sure Cas’ breathing had evened out.

            Sure enough, when he turned around Cas’ eyes were closed and his face was lax, chest heaving as he took in deep breaths. Dean smiled at the relaxed sight of the seraph, and began tiptoeing closer, cautious not to make too much noise or to fall. Now that Cas was finally asleep, it wouldn’t do for him to wake up. He grabs the fish before leaving, sparring one last look back at Cas.

            He’s just making sure the guy is still asleep, he tells himself – it has nothing to do with how absolutely pathetic and weak Cas looks, all curled up by himself with bloody bandages clinging to his skin and cuts littering the unbandaged areas, with tears and rips all across his tentacles and a large pile of tentacles just sitting, waiting to be tossed away.

            He’ll have to take care of those later, though. He doesn’t want to risk Cas hearing the splash. He’s gambling here, playing with fire – if Cas wakes up and Dean isn’t in the cave, he’s going to wind up tearing himself apart getting outside to look for him. And he’d probably be pissed at Dean, to the point where he’d get stuck in the nest until Cas calmed down and remembered that Dean couldn’t _go anywhere_. For now he’ll settle with cooking the fish, getting something into their empty stomachs and taking care of one more job while Cas is out of commission.

            He sets the fish on the rack and sits down, sprawling out in the sand while he waits for their dinner to be cooked.

* * *

 

Castiel wakes up to the feeling of the bed starting to shift and a hand carefully gripping his shoulder. He grumbles, for a moment, worn out and reluctant to pull himself out of his sleepy haze.

            Until he startles, realizing with a terrifying burst of clarity how _cold_ it is. And how empty, and how he’s not currently resting on top of a warm and sleepy body – Dean, where’s Dean, his mind runs the question on repeat. His eyes fly open and he jerks up, hissing in pain as the sudden motion sends twinges of sharpness through his shoulder.

            And he rams straight into Dean, nearly pushing the man off of the bed in his haste. A tentacle quickly snaps out, wrapping around Dean’s waist and heaving him up, apologies springing forth as he tugs his mate closer.

            “I’m sorry, I fell asleep, I didn’t mean to-“ Cas rambles, shoving his face into Dean’s hair and taking in a deep breath of the calm scent, reassuring his senses that his mate is alive and well, even though he’d failed to secure him before passing out. “Are you okay? Did something happen?”

            “Relax,” Dean drawls out, chuckling softly, “thought you could use some rest, but dinner is ready and-“

            “Dinner?” Cas asks, eyes darting over to look at where he’d left the fish. Sure enough, they’re gone, not even a slight amount of dampness left on the stone to indicate where they’d been. “You made dinner?”

            “Well, yeah,” Dean says, trying to pull his head away from Castiel. Castiel tuts in disapproval, instead wrapping an arm around his shoulder and forcing him to still, “we need to eat, man, you need to regain your strength and-“

            “You should have woken me up,” Castiel says, belated terror flooding him – Dean could have been hurt, anything could have gotten to him and Castiel wasn’t even _awake_ – “you shouldn’t have left the nest, not without me – you said you would come straight to bed.”

            “Yeah, I know-“ Dean says, “but, again, we really needed to eat and I didn’t want you straining yourself over something I can do. A thank you wouldn’t fucking kill you.”

            Castiel frowns at the slight heat edging its way into Dean’s voice, the slight huff of laughter not enough to disguise it. Dean could have been _hurt_ , but of course his mate wouldn’t ever see things like that – already so dependent, so trusting that Castiel would take care of him and make sure nothing happened, even when he was rundown and _sleeping_.

            He needed to tell Dean what happened. He _should_ tell Dean what happened. He didn’t want to. He didn’t want his mate to panic, didn’t want Dean thinking that maybe he’d been wrong and Castiel couldn’t handle caring for him like he thought. Dean couldn’t think that. Castiel had _won_ , anyway, he’d come back victorious and despite any injuries that he’d taken, that had to count for the most.

            He’d tell him later. After he thought of a good way, a way to make light of the injuries he had gotten or a way to exaggerate the fight so Dean wouldn’t know how close of a call it had really been, how the cut on his arm could have very easily been his downfall. A little more pressure and strength behind the tear and Castiel’s arm would have been torn clear off, and if that happened he knew the fight would have been lost. While his tentacles were more useful in a fight, the blood loss from that kind of injury would have made him sluggish and weak. If he hadn’t been killed, he certainly wouldn’t have made it back to the cave. Dean would have died, no one would have come to take care of him – or worse, someone _would_ come, some other seraph would stumble upon the alcove and thus upon Dean, and they’d kill him slowly and painfully. And Dean would never know what happened to Castiel, why the seraph hadn’t come back and why he wasn’t coming back now, to save him from starvation or from being torn apart and cast aside.

            He swallowed, tilting his head down to take another deep breath of Dean, reassurance that that would _never_ happen. He would never let anything hurt his Dean, his mate.

            “Thank you,” he breathed out, softly, fingers rubbing soothing circles onto Dean’s shoulders as the man slumped against him, relaxed by Cas’ compliance. Dean stays still for a few moments, head heavy on Cas chest and body lax in his grip, before finally rolling his shoulders and making to pull away.

            “C’mon, man, food’ll get cold.”

            Cas nods, though he doesn’t loosen his grip, instead trying to crawl towards the pool while still preventing Dean from leaving him. He’d been separated from his mate for too long, by his standards, and he doesn’t want to be apart any more than necessary. He growls when, unfortunately, he finds that he is still not strong enough to do everything he wants to do, everything that he’s accustomed to doing. It would take until morning, possibly later, for his body to have healed to the point where he’d have decent strength and mobility – far too long, he wants to impress Dean, wants to be a good mate, and now he’s only making himself look weak and like a poor candidate. And Dean is laughing at him, again, one arm reaching forward so he can run his hand through Cas’ hair, ruffling the drying strands affectionately.

            “No offense,” Dean says, making to stand up, “but I’d really rather not get wet if I don’t have to. Meet you out there?”

            Cas screeches his displeasure, shoving himself back against Dean and tightening his grip as much as he dares, uncertain of his strength as he is. No, Dean was not leaving his sight and grip, not for a long time and not without necessity. If Dean is staying out of the water, Castiel would have to crawl along beside him – or, hopefully, Dean would be willing to carry him out. As odd as Castiel knew it was (and, he had the feeling his father would look down on him for it – submissives weren’t supposed to do such things for their dominants, Castiel was sure. He should be the one carrying Dean around, but he _enjoys_ it and he’s not going to give it up if he doesn’t have to. His father never has to know), he had gotten used to the treatment. It meant Dean had no choice but to be close to him, meant the man was _willingly_ holding him and staying by him, and every time it happened Castiel felt a flood of warmth and affection course through him.

            “Cas,” Dean says, his patience waning, as evident by the exasperated tone he now used, “come on, man, you really need to be in the water. I’ll be walking right alongside of you.”

            “You said you’d come to bed earlier,” Cas points out, “but you didn’t.”

            Dean raises an eyebrow, about to challenge Castiel, so the seraph quickly cuts him off, “and while I appreciate you making us food, it does not soothe my fears.”

            “Your fears?” Dean says, dully, “what, I’m gonna up and vanish between the time it takes you to get your damn ass into the water and the next time you look up at me?”

            “Of course not,” Cas dismisses, “but something could still happen, Dean, and there have been enough risks today. I do not want to take anymore.”

            “ _One_ incident of me-“ Dean starts, practically growling the words out. Cas cuts him off, again, hungry and tired and impatient for this tiny argument to be over and done with.

            “Besides,” Cas says, “I’m..” he pauses, struggling, grapping for a word that would suit him – he was the _dominant_. He didn’t – couldn’t – admit to weakness, especially not in front of his mate, his mate who had already given him more chances than Castiel probably had a right to. But admitting to weakness might be the only way to easily get Dean to give him what he wanted – Dean could never turn him down, not if he managed to look small and pathetic, and the man would feel _obligated_ to help Castiel. And even if Dean may look exasperated by it, Castiel knew the human would start smiling the second Cas turned away and he wouldn’t complain about it.

            Dean didn’t need to know how quickly his injuries were healing – it would harm no one but his pride and sense of capability to lie and manipulate his mate. It would get them outside and eating much quicker, and surely Dean would appreciate that – and by morning Castiel would hopefully be at full strength, so the lies would stop and he would be able to properly and fully care of his mate once more.

            “Besides,” Cas tries, starting again, “I’m _tired_ and sore and I’m not sure-“

            “Stop,” Dean cuts off, waving a hand to silence him. Cas frowns, eyes narrowing as he stares at Dean in confusion – this is not how he expected it to go, not how things _normally_ went.

            “Seriously, dude?” Dean says, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips, though his eyes hold a serious and solemn glint to them, “I do have a little brother. Who knows how to use the puppy-dog eyes and play the ‘I’m too sick to move carry me to bed’ card _very_ damn well. Your little ploy ain’t fooling me, man. Gonna have to try a fucking hell of a lot harder.”

            Castiel knows his eyes have widened, guilt starting to creep up, apologies ready to spring forth. The slight reprimand made him want to curl up in a ball, shame flitting through him – how could he _lie_ to his mate, manipulate the man like that, Dean was certainly going to get angry with him now-

            He catches Dean’s hand waving again, out of the corner of his eye, stopping him from speaking though his mouth still hangs open.

            “If you wanted me to carry you out there, you just had to ask. Don’t need to lie or make up excuses – ‘s’not gonna be good in the long run, capiche?”

            “Capiche?” Cas answers, confusing causing a lilt in his tone as he fumbles over the unfamiliar word, looking to Dean for further instruction. He’s never heard the humans on the beach say that, and its meaning remains a mystery to him. But, Dean laughs and shakes his head instead of responding, already moving to grab Cas and hoist him up.

            The seraph tries to be helpful – tentacles weaving up and around Dean’s shoulder and neck, forming anchors to keep himself plastered against the human. Dean still huffs out a breath as he struggles to right himself and regain his balance, footing uneven for the first few steps as he tries to avoid falling into the water and defeating his main purpose in walking.

            They make it outside without incident, Dean only swaying a little when it came time to get out of the cave and over the ledge (at which point a very reluctant Cas had wound up being put down, so Dean could get himself out and resume carrying him). The fire is still going and the cooling fish are attached to their sticks, leaning up against the rocks away from the harsh spray of the ocean water.

            Castiel wants nothing more than to hurry over and start eating – he had long ago started feeling pangs of hunger, keeping his healing from going as fast as it should and sending off alarm bells. Hungry mated seraphs meant something was wrong – they weren’t getting enough food to provide for their nest, weren’t doing theirjobs as dominants, and it made Castiel’s instincts clamor at him to go hunting. He needed to keep his strength up, to keep himself fed, so that he knew the rest of his nest was equally taken care of.

            He holds back, though. If he’s hungry, he can only imagine how Dean feels – and he hadn’t gotten that much food. He’d been in too much pain from the fight to spend that much time hunting. He had settled for the bare essentials, enough fish to feed them until the morning, when he could go out and get more food. This time he wouldn’t go out so far – he didn’t want to risk attracting the attention of another seraph, and he didn’t want the future hunt to take anywhere near as long as this one had.

            Dean doesn’t put him down until they’re in front of the fire, and even then he winds up sliding down with Cas still clinging tightly to him. He taps Cas’ hips when he’s settled, a silent signal to get the seraph to move off of him. Cas does so, reluctance making his movements sluggish and uncoordinated, all but dragging himself off of the man and settling beside him, pulling Dean into place so they’re still pressed together.

            Dean reaches over him to grab one of the sticks, pulling the fish off impatiently and tossing the stick into the fire, watching it catch and burn, bark curling off of it as the fire licks up its side and steadily turns it to ash. He tears into it, starting with the head, much to Cas’ surprise. He remembered Dean’s first mentioning of them, of course, and how humans couldn’t eat them – odd, Castiel still thought. He couldn’t understand what made the heads any different from the rest of the fish, but he would hardly say that he knew enough to question Dean. He didn’t want to get overly confident and make his mate eat something that would only serve to make him sick.

            But it couldn’t make him _that_ sick, if he was eating it right now, right? Or his mate was just that hungry, that he’d settle for eating something that he knew would cause him sickness and pain later on just to get rid of the pain of hunger. Castiel felt a pang of depression and guilt hit him – he’d let his mate _suffer_ , and now his mate was going to have to undergo further suffering to combat it.

            But Dean doesn’t raise the fish head to his mouth, doesn’t even _start_ to. Instead he raises his hand up towards Cas’ mouth, keeping the fish a few inches away from him and holding it there. He turns to stare at Cas when the seraph doesn’t lean forward to take the food, curiosity and impatience warring in his green eyes.

            “Hungry?” Dean asks, waving the fish head around a little in his haste to make Cas take it. Temptation wars within Castiel, tongue licking his lips in anticipation – he’s _starving_ , but so is Dean, and his mate should be the first one to eat. He needs to make sure Dean has enough food before he takes any for himself.

            “You need to eat,” Castiel says, shaking his head slightly and shutting his eyes, removing the temptation seeing the food had. The scent is still there, heavy in the air and mingling with the scent of his mate and creating a tantalizing aroma that has Cas leaning forward despite himself, wanting everything that he is steadily denying himself.

            “Yeah, no shit,” Dean laughs, “so do you. Still don’t eat fish heads, and it’ll get cold, so how ‘bout you eat so I can?”

            Cas prys open one eye and stares down at Dean, shaking his head once more. “You need to eat,” he repeats, “and then I will.”

            “That so?” Dean leans back, smirking slightly, “looks like we have a problem. I’m not putting this down until you take it, which makes it damn hard for me to eat.”

            “Dean,” Cas growls out, “I need to make sure there’s enough for you-“

            “There’s two fish here, we split them evenly. No discussion.”

            “You don’t get to-“ Cas says, stubbornly, growling when Dean cuts him off by shoving the fish into his open mouth. He’s tempted to spit it out, force Dean into eating so that he can both prove himself and show Dean who was in charge. But once the taste hits his tongue, he can’t help but suck the meat all the way in and start chewing, glaring at the amused look Dean shoots him as he tears off a smaller piece for himself, dropping it into his mouth with a self-satisfied smirk.

            “I’m your mate,” Cas says, petulantly, just managing to withstand the urge to cross his arms and glare down at Dean. He’s being childish, he knows – his father would definitely have something to say regarding his attitude (probably something like _earn your place, Castiel_ or _prove that you’re worth his respect_ ). Even with that thought echoing through his mind, he can’t help himself – he was _born_ to take care of Dean, couldn’t Dean just accept that and let things be?

            “’N I’m yours, according to you,” Dean responds, after swallowing. Cas smiles, an instant response to hearing Dean accept and acknowledge that they are, in fact, mates – he hadn’t realized how nice it would be to hear something so simple come from the man, but he has the feeling he’ll never tire of hearing Dean say it. His fingers are already tearing the rest of the fish into smaller pieces and Cas frowns when he notes how uneven the pieces are, a sour feeling starting to roll through his stomach – he has a feeling he knows where his stubborn mate is going with this, and he already doesn’t like it. He _will_ make sure Dean’s needs are taken care of, one way or another -

            Sure enough, Dean takes one of the large pieces and flicks his wrist, holding the piece out in front of Cas. The seraph shakes his head, leaning his head back so he can respond without worrying about Dean shoving it into his mouth and praying on his apparently poor self control again.

            “That’s your piece.”

            “I just ate a piece,” Dean insists, “this one is yours.”

            “My piece was bigger than yours – you eat this one, I’ll take that one,” He waves a tentacle towards the smallest piece, not even the size of one of his smaller suckers. His tentacle drifts down, about to grab it and eat it (hopeful that maybe if he eats the tiny piece, Dean will have to accept that they’d eaten the same amount and he’d eat the piece he was holding). He nearly jerks back when Dean’s free hand suddenly slaps at him, hitting his tentacle away from the food. His hand then moves to hover over the food, cupping it and keeping it from Castiel’s easy reach.

            “Eat the damn fish, Cas,” Dean says, twisting his body as he tries to turn around, hand moving closer to Castiel’s mouth.

            Castiel glares, patience gone, and within moments he’s got the food scooped up in his tentacles and Dean’s back pressed into the sand, Castiel’s body hovering over him.

            “The hell?” Dean sputters, body tense as he tries to wiggle his way out of Castiel’s grip, “seriously, man, I get that you’re strong, now get off of me-“

            Castiel just smiles, grabbing the piece of fish Dean was still clinging to and bringing it up to the man’s mouth, tapping it against his lips. Dean presses his lips tight together in response, humming out his displeasure.

            “Just _eat_ the _fish_ ,” Castiel says, wincing when it comes off close to begging, one hand reaching up to grip Dean’s hair.

            He needs Dean to eat – if he can get this one piece into his mouth, hopefully the rest of the process will go much easier – so, without thinking it through, he tugs gently at the strands, applying just enough pressure to get Dean to open his mouth in a startled gasp. Before he can think better of it and close his mouth, Castiel has the fish shoved in, the hand that had been holding it quickly moving down to push at his chin, forcing his mouth closed. He likes to think he’s gotten to know his mate, and from the fiery look Dean sends him, he knows he was right – he had been planning on spitting it out, had Castiel not seen fit to force his mouth to remain closed. He can’t force Dean to chew or swallow, but he can certainly sit here and hold him and wait for him to do so on his own.  

            Eventually Dean does cave, just as Castiel expected, chewing and swallowing with an irritated harshness. Castiel’s already picked up the next piece, determined to have Dean eat the majority before he so much as thinks about taking another piece for himself.

            But Dean doesn’t open his mouth when he’s done, doesn’t even let his tongue dart out to wet his lips. Instead he stares steadfastly at Cas, challenge clear in his green eyes, daring Castiel to force his mouth open.

            He’s torn. On the one hand, Dean needs to eat. As his dominant mate, he can and will go to great lengths to make sure that Dean obeyed him and was taken care of – and he could be gentle, he could open Dean’s mouth without hurting him, as long as the human didn’t put up too much of a fight. But, on the other, he was getting tired of their fights. Tired of Dean getting angry and yelling and wanting to off on his own because Castiel had done something else to make him upset.

            He was tired of Dean thinking of him as a monster instead of a mate. And if Dean already thought he’d go so far as to force him to – if Dean thought Castiel was capable of _raping_ him…he didn’t want to force the hunter to do anything, didn’t want Dean to have any other reason to back up his terrifying conclusion.

            They would need to talk about that, sooner rather than later. It wasn’t a conversation that could be brushed off, as badly as Castiel wanted to pretend it never happened – he needed to know what he had done to make Dean think like that, and he needed him to know that it would never happen. He’d never do that to him, never so much as think about it. It would go against his entire nature.

            “You can’t just make this easy, can you?” Castiel hums, sighing as he moves the fish away from Dean’s mouth. Dean’s eyes track the movement, and he still refuses to open his mouth.

            “I’m not going to shove it in, Dean,” he says, “just – tell me why you aren’t eating, please? Are you sick? Do you not like the fish? What can I do?”

            Dean stares at it for a moment longer, waiting for some kind of movement, and Castiel has to fight against the urge to regain eye contact. When Dean does stare at him, defiance and an indescribable look in his eyes, Castiel almost regrets his wishes. He doesn’t want that expression aimed at him.

            “’S not the food, Cas, and I’m not sick,” he mutters, barely moving his lips apart as he talks. His eyes dart back to the fish every few words, as if waiting for Cas to go back on his word and try to shove it in anyway. He considers moving the fish further away but stops himself from doing so, knowing the slight movement would probably send off alarm bells in Dean’s head and he would react before realizing that the fish was being moved _away_ from him, not towards him.

            “Then what?”

            “And you say I don’t make things easy,” Dean laughs, self-depreciatingly. “Look – I can’t-“ the man starts a few times, each time failing and glaring at the sky, as if it held the answers to whatever he was trying to tell Castiel. “Let me up,” he says, finally.

            Castiel glances away, reluctance making his movements sluggish, and Dean groans.

            “I’m not having this conversation with you pinning me to the ground. Just let me up. “

            Castiel grumbles but complies, helping the man until he’s sitting cross-legged, tentacles still curled around him. Cas is practically sitting in his lap, determined not to have too much space between him and his mate. He’d come so close to losing him – another thing, he knows, he’ll have to tell Dean.

            He can’t keep the seraph attack a secret – Dean needs to know, to understand, the reason Castiel had come back so badly damaged. The thought of it still sent rage through Castiel – that another seraph could so easily swim up to him and demand his nest. Uriel had hardly been a family friend, but Castiel had thought the seraph had long since left the area, off to start his own nest and find his mate – to see him again had been startling, to say the least. Uriel was bitter, either from his isolation or from his failed attempt at making a nest Castiel was not sure, but he would not allow the older seraph to take what he had been working on as compensation. Uriel’s failures were not Castiel’s fault, and he wouldn’t have allowed the seraph to take his home even if he hadn’t found his mate yet.

            The fact that he had Dean should have been enough to deter Uriel – they may not have been friends, but their mothers had gotten along, in the brief time back when seraph’s had been more keen on kinship than protecting their mates and nests at all costs. Uriel should have acknowledged Castiel’s recent mateship, congratulated him perhaps, and then left. Instead he had swam closer, taken a deep whiff and _smiled_ , this lecherous grin that had Castiel shivering in fear and anger. He knew Uriel was not responding to his own scent, but that of Dean’s.

            Uriel was not Dean’s mate, but sometimes too many years would pass and the seraph would lose faith. He had no idea what had happened to Uriel after he left – but from the scars on his shoulders and the slightly deranged glint his eyes held, Castiel had figured time had not done him any favors. He would have been content to engage in only a small fight with Uriel, aggressive but certainly not deadly – had Dean not been dragged into things.

            But the mere thought of another seraph taking _his_ mate, using Dean and doing whatever he pleased with him, enraged Castiel. Uriel would not treasure Dean. He would not take care of him. Dean was not Uriel’s mate – he would be used as no more than a fucktoy, a way for Uriel to get out his anger at being denied his own true mate, and Dean likely would not have survived past their first day together. He wouldn’t – couldn’t – allow such a threat and challenge go unanswered and unpunished. Ripping Uriel apart had been _necessary_ , and he knew if he had another chance he’d tear the older seraph apart all over again, before he so much as had a chance to smell Dean’s lingering scent on Castiel.

He could only hope that Dean would see it that way, that his mate wouldn’t see it as another act of ‘senseless’ violence, like sinking the boats and killing the humans had been. Surely, Dean would be able to see the difference between the two, though – the man already equated seraph’s as bad, and Castiel wasn’t sure he was that far from being lumped into the same sum as all other seraphs. Yes, Dean would understand – he’d be thankful that Castiel had extinguished the threat.

            He’s still waiting for Dean to speak, the man instead spending time scrubbing the palm of his hand against his eyes. His mates stomach twitches a little – had Castiel been closer, he guesses he would have heard a faint rumble coming from it. But even the slight sign of hunger is enough to send distress through him, his mind barely able to think past the fact that his mate was hungry and thus not being taken care of, and he was desperate to remedy the problem as quickly as he could.

            “You can’t keep doing this,” Dean says, finally, snapping Castiel’s attention back to him. “It’s not gonna work.”

            “I don’t understand,” Castiel admits, fighting against the urge to push Dean’s chin up and move his hands away. Certainly the pressure against his eyes must be hurting, by now? It doesn’t wind up mattering – Dean lets out a gentle sigh and lets his hands drop away, fisting in the sand alongside him. He finally stares up defiantly at Cas, looking both tired and determined, exhausted by the weight of the world. Castiel wants to ease that burden, though he has no idea how.

            “This – this _whole_ thing-“ Dean spits out, irritated with himself for not being able to get his thoughts to flow coherently. “We need ground rules, or compromises, or _something_ , man, and we need to figure it out _now_ , not later.”

            “I’ve hurt you?” Castiel’s eyes widen, roving over Dean’s body – if Dean wanted rules, Castiel had done something wrong. And he hadn’t even _realized_ it.

            “No!” Dean says, quickly, shaking his head to further his denial, “no, man, that’s not the problem here.”

            “Then….I don’t understand,” Castiel repeats, tilting his head. His grip loosens, comforted by the fact that he supposedly hadn’t done anything wrong – though, if that were the case, why would Dean want to change things?”

            “Look,” Dean says, slowly, popping the ‘k’ as he drags the word out, “I get it. You were raised with all this – stuff, whatever – it’s built into you and all that jazz. But I can’t live like that, man, I can’t go from being independent and responsible for myself and my brother and all that – I can’t go from living _my_ life, the way I’ve been living it for _years_ , to suddenly being completely dependent on you and unable to do _anything_ for myself or anyone else. It’s been a couple of days full of fighting and I’m already at my ends. Things stay like this it’s not gonna make it past a week.”

            “You want to leave. Again.” Castiel guesses, sinking against his mate. Of course. He should have known he wouldn’t be able to keep something as good as Dean, should have known that with all of his shortcomings he wouldn’t get something like that all to himself. Uriel had been right. He didn’t deserve to find his mate, not when there were so many other seraphs who were better than he and who had been looking longer.

            “No!” Dean says, quick again. His hands move to grip Castiel’s shoulder tight, fingernails digging into the flesh. Castiel shoots him a confused look, wary and uncertain of where Dean is taking this conversation – he should be happy, he knows, that his mate is not intending on trying to leave him again.

            But at least if that was the case Castiel would _know_ , and he would understand and he’d hopefully be able to figure out how to handle it. This? Castiel doesn’t even know what this _is_ , let alone what he’s supposed to do about it. His mate is clearly upset about something, but with so little to go on Castiel is left floundering.

            “I’m saying we need to change things around a bit. Find out some way for both of us to get what we want, you know?”

            “What aren’t I doing for you?” Castiel asks, his own hand moving to finally grip at Dean’s chin, holding him in place while he studies the man. His mind is running through a list of every lesson he remembered his father teaching him – hunting, bathing, inspection, sleeping…he can’t recall _not_ doing anything for Dean, but perhaps there was something his father had failed to mention when it came to human mates?

            “That’s, ah, actually kind of the point, dude.” Dean confesses, “you do too much.”

            “I…what?” Castiel tries to hide his confusion – really, he does – but he can’t mask the helpless look he knows he has on his face.

            “Look,” Dean scrubs his hands over his face again, dragging fingers along his skin and grimacing at the particles of sand the action leaves behind, patting them away hastily and scowling at the ground, “I get that you were brought up told you had to do _everything_ for both of us. But that’s not how I was brought up, and it’s not how I’m gonna live my life.”

            “But,” Castiel protests, weakly, “you’re my submissive, I’m supposed to-“

            “No!” Dean cuts off, “No, stop with the ‘supposed to’ crap. Just, stop it. Whatever book you’re working from, just…throw it out, okay? We’re making a new one.”

            “I don’t have a book,” Castiel mutters, “they’re _instinct_ s.”

            “It wasn’t a literal book, Cas,” Dean sighs, “but yeah, okay. There’s gotta be some sort of middle ground we can reach, though. We’ll just…make a list, I don’t know, figure out who’s responsible for what, and we’ll try and go with that.”

            “A list.” Castiel repeats, skeptically, “a list of what?”

            “At this point? I don’t fucking know. Hunting. Cooking. Bathing, apparently, because that’s something we definitely don’t see eye to eye on.”

            “I want to do all of those,” Castiel protests, “those are _my_ jobs-“

            “But _I_ want to do all of them, too,” Dean says, “that’s all stuff _I’ve_ been taught to do for myself and my family – why should _you_ get everything?”

            “Because you’re my-“

            “If you’re about to say submissive, I swear to god I’ll freak. I already told you, humans don’t do that.”

            Castiel stops, barely stopping himself from muttering the word anyway. He scowls at Dean.

            “Fine. You can…” He looks around, eyes darting from the fire to the cave.

            He doesn’t want to give anything up. These were his birthrights, bestowed upon him when he presented as a dominant. Why was Dean taking them from him? How was that fair? But that didn’t seem to matter – Dean wanted something to do, and if Castiel didn’t try and appease him his mate would get angry. So, he was going to have to pick something to lose out on.           

            Well, it wasn’t going to be hunting. That was his job. He didn’t want Dean going into the water and risking getting hurt, or drowning, and besides – it would be so much faster if _he_ did the hunting, he had more limbs and they could reach farther. Hunting and gathering food was _his_. And bathing? No, he wasn’t giving that up either. He liked being able to run his hands and tentacles along Dean’s skin, and if Dean was going to be scrubbing himself free of Castiel’s scent and ink then Castiel was at least going to be right there with him, his scent surrounding him while he worked. He wasn’t going to be robbed of any opportunity to touch and feel his mate’s skin.

            “You can cook,” he said, finally, nodding to himself as he stared at the fire. He didn’t like the flames anyway – though he really didn’t like Dean so close to them, they were too hot and could burn him. But Dean was definitely more skilled when it came to cooking, having had more experience in it and if –

            “Okay, good, see, we’re off to a good start.”

            “ _Start_?” Castiel nearly screeches the word, head snapping back to Dean.

            “Yeah, man. Start. That’s – that’s _one job_ , Cas, you really think that’s much of a compromise at all?”

            “It’s one more job than you should have!” Castiel protests, hands reaching up so his fingers can fan across Dean’s face, “I don’t want you working, Dean, I want you relaxed and stress-free and –“

            “I’ll be bored,” Dean says, “and besides that, _you_ doing everything isn’t actually going to make me stress-free or relaxed or anything. I’ll just feel bad and guilty and shit.”

            Castiel frowns in thought – Dean shouldn’t feel guilty. These were Castiel’s duties, they weren’t things that he didn’t enjoy being responsible for – he was grateful for the chance to take care of something so important, so treasured.

            Tentatively, he leans forward and kisses Dean, soft and careful. He squirms in happiness when the man tilts his head and kisses back, lips dragging against Castiel’s, and a hand makes its way up to cup Castiel’s cheek.

            He almost thinks he’s won, when Dean pulls back with a chuckle, rolling his eyes and smiling softly.

            “Your distraction tricks won’t work on me, Cas. We’re not done talking.”

            Castiel pouts, head titling forward as he tries to kiss Dean again, huffing when the man leans back and keeps his mouth a safe distance away.

            “I don’t see why you have to do anything,” Castiel says, “I’m more than capable of taking care of the both of us, and I _want_ to take care of us – isn’t cooking enough?”

            “Still not enough. It’s not that you’re not capable, man, it’s just not _fair_. I don’t care that you don’t mind, I still don’t want you doing everything. It’s…not _balanced_ , not _healthy_.”

            Castiel grumbles, fingers toying with Dean’s hair, “…you can start the fire,” he says, finally, reluctance clear in the drawl of his voice.

            “How kind of you,” Dean says, sarcastically, “truly a compromise – giving me the two things _I’ve already been doing_.”

            “I’ve cooked!” Castiel protests. “I can cook and start the fires, if you’d rather-“

            “No!” Dean cuts off, quickly, “No, those are mine now. No taking them back.”

            Castiel glares but nods, “fine. Those are your jobs. Are we done now?”

            “Does it seem like we’re done now?” Dean asks, raising his eyebrows.

            Castiel hesitates – on the one hand, he really wants this to be finished so they can eat and he can go back to kissing Dean. Now that he’s had a taste, he’s found he really likes the feeling of their lips dragging together, the heat of Dean’s mouth and the soft little sounds his mate makes.

            On the other hand – Dean’s face tells him everything he needs to know. The hard set of his jaw and the glint of his eyes, expression screaming his displeasure.

            “No,” he says, reluctantly, “what else do you want?”

            To his surprise, Dean laughs, head tilting down a little as his eyes squeeze shut for a brief moment. When they open again they’re filled with light and mirth, amusement creasing Dean’s face, “you make it sound like we’re doing some kind of hostage negotiation, man.”

            “What?” Castiel asks, head tilting and eyes narrowing as he stares at Dean, waiting for an explanation to clear up the confusing sentence. Dean doesn’t give him one, just waves his hand at him and laughs again, shaking his head slightly.

            “Nothing,” his mate says, between laughs, “look, there’s gotta be other stuff I can do. Let’s just – make a list of everything that needs doing, and we’ll split it down the middle. Fifty fifty, that sound fair to you?”

            “Absolutely not!” Castiel is quick to respond, “that’s not a ‘compromise’ Dean, it’s _insanity_.”

            “ _What_?” Dean chokes out, tensing as Castiel’s grip tightens around him.

            “Ninety-ten.” Castiel insists, “That’s _it_ , Dean, if you’re going to insist on doing things, fine, but it’s _certainly not going to be-“_

 _“_ Are you fucking kidding me?” Dean asks, “ _that’s_ crazy. Fifty-fifty is _fair_ , man, a nice even split-“

            “ _No_ ,” Castiel repeats, “that’s not going to happen. Ninety-ten.”

            Dean stares at him, eyes slowly narrowing, “Sixty-forty,” he grunts out, jaw jutting out and mouth clenching.

            “ _Nintety-ten_ ,” Castiel repeats, “I’m serious, Dean. There’s not even that much that needs to be done, not with just the two of us.”

            “Okay, fine – look, I’ll take cooking and fire, sure, and you can have hunting and-“ He chocks, slightly, the next word stumbling out hastily, “ _inspection_ , man, okay?”

            “Alright,” Castiel says, skeptically, “as well as providing warmth-“

            “Seriously, dude?” Dean cuts off, “you’re gonna count cuddling as a fucking _job_?” Dean’s cheeks darken, though Castiel can’t understand the reasoning.

            “Keeping you warm is a responsibility,” he explains, “one that I am glad to-“

            “Never mind,” Dean says, “sure, ‘s a job, whatever. That’s already one in your favor-“

            “As well as bathing and feeding,” Castiel says, smiling, one tentacle already reaching for their rapidly cooling good.

            “ _No_ ,” Dean says, grabbing at the tentacle and trying to hold it away, keeping it from its destination, “okay, wait, that’s not – both of those are things we do for _ourselves_. So unless you’re counting me feeding and bathing _myself_ as well as you feeding and bathing _yourself_ -“

            “No,” Castiel says, perplexed, “I will be feeding and bathing you, as I should be-“

            “You _are not_ ,” Dean hisses out, “We’ve been over the food thing – that’s _not_ going to be a regular thing, and the bathing thing sure as hell isn’t going to-“

            Castiel presses a tentacle against Dean’s mouth, cutting him off.

            He smiles down at his frustrated mate, cooing softly to try and end the irritated, muffled grunts he’s making. He’d expected this fight, if he was being honest – considering Dean hadn’t peacefully let him do either of the aforementioned activities before. There was simply no way he would be allowed to continue to do them indefinitely – at least, not without Dean making a fuss each time. And Castiel really, really didn’t want to have to calm his mate down every time he tried to take care of him. It was pointless and annoying and not at all something his father had taught him to deal with.

            “Compromise,” Castiel says, shaking his head softly. He wasn’t willing to give up both options – but, if Dean wanted to make good on his silly notion of ‘compromising’ he should see that Castiel should get at least _one_ of the jobs that he so desperately wanted.

            And, if in the future Castiel casually started doing the other, well…that was something they would have to deal with down the line. Once Dean was calmer and settled in, once he was okay with Castiel taking control and caring for him. That day would come, he knew, so long as he kept Dean happy long enough for him to stay and reach it.

            “Bathing,” Castiel says, definitively, “we’ll feed ourselves, but I wish to bathe-“

            Dean rolling his eyes cuts him off, another mumble blocked from recognition by his tentacle. He removes it, though just barely, ready to shove it back into place if need be. He won’t lose everything, here, if he has to hold Dean down and _beg_ him he will.

            “No,” Dean responds, eyes widening when Castiel moves to cover his mouth again, “hold up!”

            Castiel pauses, head cocked and tentacle less than an inch away from its desired goal. He wants to keep going, wants to press it against Dean’s lips and feel the plush skin, the warmth breath – it’s the best contact he’s gotten so far, and he wants _more_ of it.

            “…Food,” Dean says, slow and reluctant, “we can – _fuck_ , can’t believe I’m doing this – we can feed each other, but bathing is _personal_ and I’m doing it myself.”

            “You’ll let me feed you?” Castiel asks, astonishment coloring his voice. He’d gone with bathing because it seemed the more likely option – Dean already let him inspect him, and bathing wasn’t that far off. Feeding was far more intimate, feeding meant his tentacles would constantly have reason to be close to his mates mouth – Dean’s tongue would have to drag along them, and his lips would close around them, and it’s all much more than Castiel had dared to hope for.

            Dean only looks slightly irritated, pushing Castiel’s tentacle away from his mouth and rolling his shoulders back, body straightening as he attempts (rather humorously) to stare Castiel down. Castiel can’t help but smile at the attempt, unable to see past the faint flush coloring Dean’s cheeks and the sucker marks covering his skin, a tentacle reaching up to ruffle at his hair affectionately. Dean tilts his head down, away from the contact, as he responds,

            “Yeah, man, fine. Whatever, gotta compromise and all that shit. You feed me, _I_ bathe me, we all good?”

            Castiel nods his head in lieu of responding, glancing half-heartedly at the food Dean is still attempting to hide from him, “Does that mean we can eat now?” He asks, hopefully.

            Dean laughs, the sound huffing out of his nose as he brings the food forward again, “Yeah, man, come on.” He stops right before putting it in front of Castiel, eyes lighting up in memory, and Castiel feels a sense of dread overcoming him. He wants Dean to eat, because the sooner Dean eats the sooner _Castiel_ can eat, and Castiel is _starving_ , and if he is this hungry he can only imagine his mate must be, too.

            “One more thing, though,” Dean says, and Castiel groans in response.

            “ _Dean_ ,” he pleads, batting the human’s hand away from the fish and grabbing it up before Dean has a chance to push it away again, “ _eat_. _Now_.”

            Dean laughs, again, louder this time than before, “Relax, man, I know, we’re both fucking hungry.”

            Castiel looks disgruntled – if Dean _knows_ they are both hungry, he sees no reason to keep pushing the remedy off to the side. They can very easily fix their problem, if Dean would just _stop talking_.

            “You hafta eat too, though. Not just me, and no giving me all the big pieces while you eat the scraps.” Dean insists, staring pointedly down to where Castiel has already selected the largest section.

            “But-“ Castiel protests.

            “No buts!” Dean cuts off, “There’s plenty of food here, Cas, no reason for one of us to go hungry and the other to be stuffed. Got it?”

            Castiel glares, refusing to reply and instead pushing the fish up towards Dean’s mouth. He huffs when Dean refuses to open, the fish pressing against his lips but going no further – though, truly, he had to admire his mate’s determination. If Dean had shoved a piece of fish against Castiel’s mouth, he very much doubted he’d be able to withstand the temptation to eat it. Dean glares at him, watching Castiel with unmasked determination.

            Castiel groaned. Then he tried shoving the fish harder, hopeful that maybe he could catch Dean off guard and get it to slip into his mouth – once Dean had a taste, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from giving in and finally _eating_ it, and then he’d abandon all of his stupid hopes-

            Except Dean was iron-willed and determined, and moved no more than to seal his lips together, pressing them together tightly and _smirking_ at Castiel, a hint of cockiness shining through. It sends a wave of agitation through Castiel, makes his tentacles flare out and puff up, tightening around Dean in a display of dominance.

            Dean only looks more amused, though, not at all impressed like Castiel had hoped, and after another couple of angry sounding huffs Castiel finally gives in, tearing his gaze away from Dean to look at the food, instead.

            There’s….a fair amount, he supposes. Enough to get them through – and, worse comes to worse, he can always go out and get them more. That’s his _job_ now, he thinks, gleefully – his right, and Dean has finally accepted that. It couldn’t hurt, then, to go along and let Dean have his own way – it would make his mate happy, and maybe once they started eating Dean wouldn’t be looking closely anyway, so he could sneak a few of his pieces over to Dean. And the food would go a long way to helping him heal and it would make it easier for him to go out hunting later – hunting on an empty stomach was difficult alone, hunting hungry and hurt would be a challenge Castiel truly didn’t want to deal with.

            “Fine,” He grumbles, half-heartedly, staring at the piece of fish he’s still holding up. Dean had gotten his way, but he was still refusing to open his mouth, staring at Castiel humorously and, with another huff, Castiel gives in and lifts the piece up to his own mouth, shoving it in and swallowing. He doesn’t even both to chew, just lets the large lump hit the back of his throat, the pain making one tentacle curl up.

            He raises another large piece up to Dean’s mouth, and smiles when the man gives in, opening up without a fight and leaning forward to help get the fish in faster. He isn’t honestly surprised when his hopes were dashed – Dean pays all too much attention to whose piece is whose, and if he thinks Castiel is giving him too many big pieces and taking too many small for himself he’s more than happy to shake his head and refuse to eat. It sends mixed signals through Castiel – on the one hand, his mate needs to eat, and his refusal to allow Castiel to take care of him is enough to make him want to pin the human down and _force_ him. But, Dean is being almost endearingly sweet, showing so much concern over Castiel’s own wellbeing.

            By the time the fish is gone they’ve both slowed down, going from engulfing the food to slow chews. The fish has long-since gone cold – having only just developed a taste for warm, cooked fish Castiel is surprised by how quickly he’s grown attached to the flavor, missing the heat that filled his mouth with every bite. Dean clearly dislikes the slimy, cool texture, wincing a little more with every bite and seemingly forcing himself to swallow down the last few bites.

            It’s dark and starting to get cold – Dean is shivering, so Cas draws him in closer, holding him tight to his chest and curling his tentacles around him. He should be getting Dean inside, but first things first – he needs to talk to his mate, just like Dean had wanted to do earlier.

            “I do trust you.” It’s probably not the best opener, Castiel realizes, as he takes in Dean’s confused face, his shoulders hunching as he tries to figure out what Castiel is talking about. He makes an unintelligible sound before finally snapping up, recognition flooding through him.

            “Shit,” he murmurs, soft enough where Castiel barely hears him. “Seriously, man, you’re still stewing over that? I didn’t mean it-“

            “Oh,” Castiel mutters, “oh, good. That’s – that’s good, Dean, because I do trust you. And mates should always trust each other.”

            “Right,” Dean laughs, “glad we realized that. Anything else you’ve been stewing over?”

            “Actually-“

            “Wait, really? I was just kidding – what the hell else did I say?”

            “Nothing!” Castiel insists, “this isn’t – you didn’t do anything.”

            Dean relaxes at the assurance, nodding his head when Castiel doesn’t immediately start talking, convincing him to keep going.

            “About the – the fight,” Castiel starts, frowning when Dean interrupts him once more.

            “Oh,” the man sounds hesitant, nervous almost, and Castiel can’t help but stare down at him, curious as to what would cause that sort of response – what reason did Dean have to feel like that? “Yeah, something really did a number on you, huh? Does that, uh, happen often, seraph attacks?”

            “No!” Castiel is quick to offer assurance, dragging Dean closer and running a hand through his hair. Dean nods his head again, signaling that he heard Cas’ soft promise. “No, normally once we leave home we don’t see another of our kind – except for our mates, of course.”

            “Yeah – why is that?” Another interruption, leading Castiel to wonder if he’ll ever actually get a chance to tell Dean what happened, or if he should give up now and pretend that it was nothing. At least his mate was curious about him, that was good.

            “It’s simply how things are done,” Castiel answers. He’s not sure what answer he should be giving his mate, and the realization bothers him – Dean is asking questions that Castiel simply does not know the answer to. They’re not things he has ever had reason to think about, more natural instinct than anything else. “Our parents raise us and we leave the nest – after that, we’re supposed to find our nests and mates and keep them safe, and…that often doesn’t work out in cases where mass congregations of seraph’s are.”

            “Why not?” Dean asks, skeptically. “Thought you said it sucked, being alone all the time?”

            “It does,” Castiel says, irritation growing, “but – well, I suppose it goes in with what I’m _trying_ to tell you.”

            “Right,” Dean tenses and looks at Cas, shocked at the slight flare of anger present in the seraph’s voice. “Sorry, man – keep going, I’ll stay quiet.”

            Castiel deflates at Dean’s guilt-laden apology, fighting back the urge to apologize himself.

            “The seraph I was getting into a fight with – his name was Uriel-“ Castiel pauses as Dean’s eyebrows shoot up, the man biting his lip to stop from asking the questions Castiel knows he’s already come up with. He waits, almost expecting Dean to start talking anyway, and is surprised when he actually manages to stay quiet, waiting for Castiel to finish the story. “His family and my family – I suppose we were friends, at one point, though I haven’t seen him in a long time. His mother and my mother were siblings, twins, and they never quite separated. He left his nest a long time ago. Long before I did. I didn’t expect to see him again – I thought he would have found his mate by now.”

            Castiel falls silent, the memory of his mother flaring through his system. He and Uriel were friends, before, weren’t they? True, Uriel was older and was more prone to playing with Lucifer and Michael – but he had never been _mean_ to Castiel, never seemed like he’d had any ill-will towards him. Dean seemed willing to wait, but after a while the silence gets to him and he starts talking despite his promise to do otherwise.

            “But he didn’t?” Dean prompts, “so, what, the guy was jealous?”

            “Yes,” Castiel says, nodding, surprised at Dean’s rapid understanding – though from the tone Dean was using and the look of shock on his face, he has the feeling the man was only kidding. “He was. He…did not like that he was still searching while I found you, and apparently his nest was recently destroyed in a storm – he was in a bad place, I suppose.”

            Another pause, this time Castiel picks up before Dean finds the need to prompt him again, “He – sometimes, when seraph’s are alone for so long, or when they lose their mate…they become aggressive. Feral. _Angry_. Uriel wanted to…hurt you. Take you away and…”

            Castiel’s voice dies, and he winds up burying his face against Dean, breathing in his scent and trying to calm himself. The things Uriel had wanted to do – they still sent waves of sickness and anger through him, made him want to rip the seraph apart all over again.

            “….Cas?” Dean whispers, one hand reaching up to card through Castiel’s hair, movements hampered by a few tentacles that had shot up to wrap around him, desperate to keep his mate safe and cocooned. “Cas, buddy, come on – look at me, hey-“

            “He would have _destroyed_ you, Dean,” Castiel says, angrily, “beaten and raped you until you _died_ -“

            “Cas!” Dean’s alarm is growing, voice steadily rising as Castiel’s does, trying to overpower and cut off the panicking seraph. “Hey, man, _it’s okay, calm down_ -“

            “You said not to hurt anyone, anymore, and I _promised_ you, Dean, I know I did, but Uriel, he-“

            “Cas!” Dean screams, chest reverberating with the action. It finally seems to break through to Cas, as he falls quiet and looks up at his mate, worry flaring through him.

            Dean has to understand. He _has_ to. They were doing so well, they’d finally come to an agreement and to lose him now, over _Uriel_ of all reasons, would destroy him. He reaches a hand up to stroke Dean’s face, desperation and need clear in his jerky movements, and smiles when Dean leans into the touch, pressing his cheek against Castiel’s fingers. The hand that had been combing through Castiel’s hair moves, fingers interweaving with Castiel’s, keeping his hand pressed against Dean’s face.

            “It’s okay,” Cas stiffens, waiting for the rebuttal he’s sure is coming – Dean has to understand, of course, but that doesn’t mean he _will_. Dean never agreed with him. Dean seemed inclined to start fights. He made things difficult, far more so than they needed to be, and just because Castiel so desperately wanted him to see reason here – that didn’t mean he was stupid enough to think that Dean _would_. Dean would tell him it was wrong to kill, that Castiel should have found some other way to work things out, Dean wouldn’t understand that there was no _reasoning_ with seraphs, especially not bloodthirsty angry ones like Uriel. “Cas, it’s _okay_.”

            “It….is?” He tries to squash the hope building up inside of him, the wishful thinking that tells him this is not the setup for some kind of sick joke, that Dean is not going to start laughing and telling him _of course it’s not okay, you said you were done killing and look what you’ve already done you useless liar_. The look Dean is giving him doesn’t seem to harbor any malicious intent, though, it’s carefully guarded and yet full of acceptance and understanding, all of which make Castiel lean further into his touch, soaking up the approval.

            “Well, no, I mean, it’s not _okay_ but-“ Castiel tenses, the words making him go rigid – of course it wasn’t okay, of course Dean was kidding. His breaths start to come in shallow huffs, tentacles curling around the human as if he’s going to push Castiel away and just _disappear_ , and he ignores Dean’s startled gasp as it gets lost, buried in the heavy sounds of Castiel’s own breaths.

            “No, no- Cas, I’m not mad at you, that’s not…Uriel, man, he did this to you?”

            He tries to force himself to relax, head nodding in answer to Dean’s question. “Yes, he – he charged me, thought it would be easier to get to you if I were completely out of the way, instead of only distracted or delayed.”

            Dean lets out a harsh breath, one arm curling around Castiel’s shoulder, dragging him in closer until Castiel is fully seated on the human’s lap, the weight of him no doubt painful. He can’t find it in himself to move, though, despite the understanding that he must be hurting his fragile human mate. He needs contact, needs to reassure himself that Dean is here and safe and not being tortured or pulled apart by Uriel. The faint stink of blood and thrill of violence shooting through his veins isn’t enough to assure him that the threat is in fact taken care of – he needs _more_ , needs to assure himself of his mate’s safety in ways he knows Dean will not yet allow for.

            “Son of a bitch,” Dean swears, “bastard’s lucky he’s dead, I’d fucking tear him apart myself if I got near him-“

            Castiel bites back a panicked laugh at the thought of Dean trying to take on a seraph, especially one as large and anger-fueled as Uriel – a human would hardly stand a chance against an _infant,_ Dean would have absolutely no chance of being able to so much as rip off a single tentacle.

            It’s hard to focus on those thoughts, though, when Dean’s chin is pressing down onto the top of Castiel’s hair, his grip tight and sure as he hugs the seraph to him. Castiel wraps a few of his own tentacles around the man’s waist, reciprocating the hug and lessening the space between them as best he can.

            “Fuck, Cas,” Dean mumbles against his hair, one hand stroking down his back softly, “you swear this doesn’t happen often?”

            “I haven’t seen a fellow seraph in quite some time,” Castiel answers, lips dragging against Dean’s skin as he refuses to move his head back so much as an inch. “We tend not to stray from our claimed lands.”

            “And Uriel – no one’s gonna, I don’t know, miss him or something? Come after you for some kind of vengeance?”

            “The only ones who would be bothered by him would be his family – and, if they were to come, customs would be in my favor. Uriel threatened you – that gave me the right to whatever measures I deemed fit. Had he survived, his family would have likely disassociated themselves with him. Perhaps even killed him themselves, depending on the mood of the alpha.”

            “They’d just – turn on him? Just like that, just cause you said so?”

            “In the state Uriel was in, I don’t believe anyone would have doubted me. Besides, he was in my territory, which would cast suspicion on him to begin with.”

            “That’s…good, then, I guess,” Dean says, finally pulling away from Cas. He glances away, back towards the cave, then takes another at Cas, his eyes roving over the bandage and the slightly sparse groups of tentacles, most of which are woven around some part of his body.

            “Come on,” he says, after a moment of thought, “let’s head back in, yeah? ‘M exhausted, and a good night’s sleep sure can’t hurt you right about now.”

            Castiel nods. It takes him a moment to realize that Dean can’t get up with him on top, so he reluctantly slides away from him, barely letting Dean stand before he’s reaching up and pressing against him, silently begging him to pick him up and hold him again.

            He’s pretty sure Dean laughs as he bends down to grab him, though his attention is mostly focused on the bright smile the man gives him. It takes more willpower than Castiel thought he had to fight against the urge to kiss him, only stopping because he knows how heavy of a weight he is for the human to carry and he doesn’t want to risk ruining the careful balance Dean has found and possibly injuring him.

            When they get back to the cave, he half expects Dean to just drop him into the water. The man has been vocal about his concern over Cas being out of the water so often, and while Castiel knows the complaints do hold some grain of truth – it’s certainly not _great_ for him, but so long as he keeps a few tentacles in and doesn’t get completely dried up it’s hardly deadly. More of an annoying itch, and even that is more than drowned out by all the good feelings brought on by being so close to his mate. The other part of him figures Dean will drop him off on the stone, either not wanting to bend down or get splashed.

            Dean doesn’t do either of those things, though, instead wobbling his way towards the bed and carefully falling to his knees, grunting slightly when the bare skin hits the hard stone ground. Castiel squeaks in disapproval, a tentacle nearly shoving its way down to wedge between Dean’s knee and the floor, but by the time he responds it’s too late and the damage has been done. He makes a mental note to check over the area later, once they’re both in bed and Dean has started to relax – even though he’d already agreed to let Castiel complete his inspections, Castiel knows better than to think the first few times are going to be gotten through without some form of a fight or resistance.

            Dean pushes him onto the bed and then goes to stand, cursing softly when a tentacle shoots out to wrap around his ankle, keeping him from walking away.

            “Where are you going?” Castiel’s eyes lock with green, confused as to what Dean could possibly be doing – it was night, they had eaten, and it had been Dean’s idea to go back in the first place. Certainly there was nothing left for him to do, besides get into bed?

            Dean glances over to the heap of tentacles, nearly impossible to see in the darkness of the cave, “those need to be taken care of, figured might as well do it now.”

            Castiel nods and starts to crawl off the bed, hissing when Dean raises a hand to stop him.

            “I got it, man, you need to relax.”

            “You’re not going outside alone,” Castiel insists, “so if you want to get rid of them tonight-“

            “You’re not getting up, you need to rest,” Dean says, “and if it’s really that big of a fucking deal, I’ll stay inside the cave. I can throw ‘em over the lip, won’t even leave your sight.”

            “You could still-“

            “Cas,” Dean says, dryly, “I’ve been doing shit for a long time before you came around, and I didn’t die then. I think I can handle tossing some tentacles into the water without a problem. And if something does happen, it’s not like you’re that far away, alright?”

            “This isn’t one of the jobs we agreed on,” Castiel grumbles, glaring half-heartedly.

            “Yeah, well, it better not become a fucking job then, huh?” Dean returns his glare before turning away, scooping up as many of the tentacles as he can and heading towards the entrance. He keeps to his word, never leaving Castiel’s sight and instead dumping the tentacles at his feet, picking them up and tossing them as far as he could one by one.

            It takes a few trips for Dean to finish the entire pile, by which point Castiel is barely able to keep his eyes open. He remembers what happened last time he fell asleep, though, and he refuses to let Dean out of his sight like that again. He stays awake through sheer force of will and from moving around as much as possible, squirming and wiggling and laying in all sorts of uncomfortable positions he’d never be able to fall asleep in.

            When Dean is done, he heads towards the crates, seemingly intent on fishing through them for something.

            “Dean?” Castiel asks, one tentacle stretching forward to reach for him, though it’s by no means long enough to even hope to nudge at the man.

            “Yeah, Cas?”

            “What are you doing? I thought we were going to bed.”

            “Yeah – we are, just getting some pants or something-“

            “ _No_ ,” Castiel screeches, clawing his way forward, desperate to get to Dean and pull him away from the boxes and back towards bed. “You promised! We had a _deal_ -“

            “About me going around naked? The hell we did, Cas-“

            “I’m supposed to keep you warm at night! No clothes, they’ll just get in the way!”

            “Are you _kidding_?” Dean says, exasperated, “I can’t even wear pants? _Boxers_?”

            “No,” Cas says, petulantly, giving up on crawling and collapsing against the bed, still reaching out for the human. “I can keep you warm, Dean.”

            “ _Fine_ ,” Dean throws his hands up into the air, too tired to fight over something so stupid. He’ll put clothes on in the morning, Castiel knows, but for now he’ll get to enjoy Dean’s bare skin pressed against him, warm and soft and nice. “Whatever, no clothes. Lemme just grab-“

            “ _Dean_ -“

            “Shut up! It’s not for me!”

            Castiel frowns – certainly it must be for Dean. Castiel doesn’t wear clothes, Dean knows that – he sees no reason to, they only serve to get in the way when swimming and when out of the water they’re cold and waterlogged and utterly uncomfortable to wear. He’s not entirely sure why Dean still insists on wearing them, considering the amount of times he’s gotten out of the water shivering with cold cloth clinging to his reddened skin. Soon he hopes he’ll have figured it out and will start going without – Castiel longs for that skin to be on display for him to see whenever he pleases, rather than only in the darkness of the night.

            When Dean comes back over he’s got something black in his hands. His fingers are twisting the fabric around, wringing it in his hands, and Castiel can swear he can see a blush lighting up his face, some of the color seeming to run down along his entire body. He practically collapses onto the bed, ignoring Castiel’s assistance as he crawls his way forward, fabric still held tight and close to his chest, keeping the long length of it from trailing into the water.

            When he gets close enough he thrusts it out towards Cas, arm going ramrod straight, “here!” His voice is gruff and quiet, and Castiel can do no more than stare helplessly at him, not sure of what he wants.

            “You said you weren’t wearing anything,” he says, weakly, refusing to reach out to grab the fabric. Had he misunderstood? Did Dean just mean he wasn’t wearing pants, but whatever this was he _was_ wearing? That’s not what Castiel wanted – that’s not what they had agreed upon!

            “It’s not- _ugh_ ,” Dean grumbles, “turn around, man, lemme see your arms.”

            “Why?” Castiel asks, even as he complies, twisting his body around as best he can and allowing Dean to maneuver him.

            Heavy fabric blankets his skin, some areas tickled by torn frays of cloth. He twists his head around, trying to look back at Dean to convey his confusion, but Dean seems content to ignore him and concentrate instead on adjusting whatever he’d decided to put on Cas, patting his shoulders as he pulls it on and fixes it to his wishes.

            “There!” He says, once he was done, helping Castiel to turn back around, “better. You’re _freezing_ , man, that can’t hurt. Though it’s pretty torn – I’d say sorry, but I think you actually made most of those holes yourself, so yeah.”

            He’s frozen, lax in Dean’s grip and unable to so much as flick a tentacle. Dean turns him around, curiosity widening his eyes, though not enough to gain a soothing comment or answer from Castiel.

            The weight of the coat is heavy, a presence he’s all too aware of as the lingering scent of Dean trails up off of it, surrounding Castiel with his delicious scent and warmth. He wants to burrow into it, wants to press his nose into the collar and hide his hands in the sleeves, wrap himself up in that coat until every inch of him is surrounded by Dean.

            Instead, he takes a breath. And then another. Closes his eyes for a moment while he waits for his mind to reboot, waits for his heart to stop pounding and his mouth to stop feeling so impossibly dry.

            “This is yours,” he says, finally, when his mouth starts working and his tongue doesn’t feel like a dead fish. His fingers curl around the end of the sleeves, dragging them down, arm twitching as he fights against the urge to throw his hand up and press it against his face, to rub himself along the scent until it, too, is mingled with Castiels. Everything Dean has, everything he is, it should all be mixed with him – Dean is _his_ , and he now wants everything in existence to scream that fact. He wonders if the significance of the gift is the same to Dean and to humans – it must be, though. He remembers, of course, one night on the beach when a similar offering had been made. The moon had been nearly blinding in its brightness, shining off the ocean and the sand and giving everything it touched an ethereal glow. It was beautiful – had there been no humans on the beach Castiel would have crawled out of the water and sat on the sand – he had wanted to know what it would feel like, even back then, and with the moon shining as it did each grain looked impossibly enticing.

            But the humans had been there, young and pretty and _happy_ , both grinning and relaxed despite the slight chill of the air and their unknowing proximity to one of the world’s deadliest creatures. Castiel knew they had nothing to fear – he would not harm them, as he had not harmed any of the other humans on the beach, so long as they did not enter his territory and turn themselves into a threat. He was not like his brothers, so blinded by rage that everything within reach was perceived a threat, whether it be on land, sea or air. He’d watched as they built a fire, the flames casting an orange glow against their skin as the embers danced up into the sky to meet with the bright stars. The girl had bent down, laughing, and had grabbed a shell off the ground, holding it out for the male to inspect.

            It hadn’t even been a particularly _nice_ shell – it was broken, the edges jagged and sharp. Not to mention its coloring, dull and plain – it practically blended in with the sand, and though Castiel had never felt it he could imagine it clearly even now. It would have been rough, an uneven texture similar to the sand it was hidden in, too far away for the ocean to clean. It was nothing compared to his collection of shells, and yet the man had taken it, smiling and holding it close to his chest before leaning down to kiss the girl.

            Castiel probably wouldn’t even remember the meeting, had it ended there, had they left or even just stood around to stare at the dark waves. But the man had dropped down to one knee, and that had caught Castiel’s attention – the action was unfamiliar, the meaning unclear. It didn’t look like a particular comfortable position to hold. The man was a flurry of movement, hands pulling something out of his pocket and knees digging into the sand, twisting around as if he could not find a grip, his smile a little too forced and eyes a little too wide. In contrast, the girl had gone suddenly still, one hand rising to cover her mouth while the other wrapped around herself, her breaths coming in tiny little gasps that made her body quiver.

            Castiel had gotten as close as he could, but it was still not close enough. He wanted to be there, right there next to them, wanted to know what the purpose of this charade was. The man’s words were lost in the crashing of the sea, but Castiel clearly saw the girl nodding her head up and down, movements rapid and jerky, and suddenly the man was surging up and kissing her again, his hands desperately working to slide something onto her finger.

            If he thought they had looked happy before, that was nothing compared to the pure joy on both of them after the exchange. They’d left shortly after, thought Castiel had remained rooted to the spot, still trying to work out what exactly he had seen. It had taken him months of replaying the event, comparing it to the actions of other couples on the beach and fighting against the urge to go home, to ask his father. Finally he’d written it off as some form of ritual – and, judging from the kissing and solo nature of it, a courtship one at that.

            Dean’s present was much more beautiful than a crummy, broken shell, Castiel thought – it was _his_ , after all, not just something he’d found moments before. Though, even if Dean _had_ offered up something like that, Castiel knew his response would be the same.

            He reared up and kissed Dean, limbs curling around him and tightening, before the man had a chance to talk.

* * *

 

Dean’s not sure what happened between him giving Cas the jacket and Cas suddenly deciding to kiss him.

            It was torn to shreds, hardly enough to keep anybody warm and not really something he expected any thanks for – let alone the kiss that Cas was laying on him, a heady mix of desperation and gratefulness, their lips barely meshing together as Cas couldn’t seem to stop himself from smiling. His grip on Dean is tight and sure, though in his shock the seraph hardly needed such a strong hold – Dean wasn’t going anywhere, the idea of moving hadn’t even crossed his confused mind, still trying to play catch up and figure out how they’d gone from Point A to Point B.

            It takes him a moment just to start kissing back, lips slowly moving against Castiel’s and one hand reaching up to fist in his hair, trying to tilt their heads so the kiss was less painful. When Castiel pulls away he takes in a grateful breath, air fanning out across his lips as Cas barely moves away. Dean goes cross-eyed for a moment, taking in puffy red lips and a faint blush before looking back up to the look of unmasked _joy_ present in Castiel’s wide blue eyes, excitement lighting them up and making Dean lean forward again, pressing their lips together softly and huffing out a laugh when Cas squeaks and tries to drag himself closer.

            They pull away again, foreheads touching and mouths parted as both try and steady their breathing while withstanding the urge to lean back in and continue.

            “What was that for?” Dean asks, fingers carding through Castiel’s wet hair, scratching as his scalp and smiling at the groan of delight he gets in response.

            Castiel look at him curiously, “I believe that’s what you’re supposed to do,” he says, confidently; skin brushing together as he tries to nod his head without moving away from Dean. “When you’re in love, when you’re courtship is going well-“

            Dean stares, shocked, his fingers faltering in their easy-going rhythm. It was weird, still, hearing Castiel so easily toss out what Dean had long-ago dubbed the ‘l-word’ –and it was weird seeing the utter sincerity in his eyes, the look that has Dean convinced Castiel truly does mean what he’s saying. Part of him wants to say it back, feels like he’s _supposed_ to say it back, and he’s more than a little bothered by how unexpecting Castiel looks. Like he doesn’t care, one way or another, whether Dean ever says those words back to him, like he’s okay with Dean not admitting it or like he doesn’t _expect_ the hunter to be okay with it. It’s sad in its truth, and it keeps Dean from letting the words slip out as easily as he fears they may be able to.

            He’s not sure if he loves Cas. Not yet. Love is tough. It’s a big word with meaning and _commitment_ and all sorts of things that Dean has long-since given up on. They’re not hunter things, not things people in his line of work can even hold out hope of getting, and it screams selfishness that Dean wants it more than anything. And he won’t say it, not unless he’s _sure_ – anything else would be unfair to Cas, and while he’s curious about the look Castiel will give him when he does finally say it…he’d rather it not be tainted by its falseness.

            “I don’t have mine yet,” Dean’s startled once more as he realizes Cas is still talking – rambling, really, and he only catches the last part of his sentence. He finds himself nodding his head regardless, hoping that that’s the right answer to give, mind backlogging through and trying to piece together the fragmented conversation to see what Cas was talking about. Didn’t have his _what_? What the hell had Dean missed? “I’ll give it to you in the morning, though, I can get it after I go hunting? If that’s okay? Or I can go now – I can get it now, would that be better, is that what I’m supposed to-“

            Yeah, definitely rambling, an air of desperation tinging the words, and Castiel is wringing a tentacle in his hands as his head bobs up and down, agreeing with himself or a nervous habit, Dean’s not really sure. He clears his throat to catch the seraph’s attention, fingers trailing out of his hair to cup at his cheek, holding his rapidly moving head still.

            “Cas,” he says, patiently, “it’s fine – wait until morning, man, I don’t care what you say you’re still looking pretty rough, and I’d rather you not go back out right now.”

            Cas looks a little put out, head ducking down and another blush coloring his cheeks, and he nods his head again, softer this time. “Right, of course, tomorrow. I – thank you, Dean,” he says, and he sounds so damn _sincere_ that Dean truly regrets not paying closer attention.

            He has no idea what the hell Cas was rambling on about – what he had to go get, or why it was so important, but whatever. He has until morning to figure it out, he figures, and in the meanwhile Cas still looks ridiculously happy over the stupid jacket, fingers playing with the edges and nose twitching every time he dragged it up closer to his face. Dean would almost apologize for the smell it’s no doubt carrying, if Cas’ lips didn’t turn up with bliss every time he took a whiff.

            By the time they’re in bed, Cas wrapped around him and Dean pushed so he’s covered by both the seraph’s warm body and the edges of his own jacket, he’s pretty much pushed the oddness of the conversation out of his mind. He falls asleep untroubled, comforted by the reassuring grip Castiel has on him and the wide smile he sees every time he glances up.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So most people seemed on board with the idea of splitting the last update into two chapters, so that's essentially what's going to happen.  
> The next update is going to hopefully be on Monday. There's going to be a slight change from what I proposed last update - instead of uploading one chapter on Monday, I'm going to be splitting it into two smaller chapters. The first one is going to be the conclusion, and the second one is going to be the epilogue. They are going to be posted around the same time, so despite there being another two chapters after this instead of one this story is still set to end on Monday.

He wakes up to the feeling of chapped lips against his skin, soft kisses being pressed into his shoulder and neck. Suckers are clinging to his skin, holding him in place, which at first makes him tense up. His body is prepared for a fight, despite the gentle trail Cas’ lips are taking, reacting to the presence of a strong body holding him down and keeping him from moving.

            Once his brain catches up and fully puts together the situation, he groans and relaxes. Right. Cas. Apparently he wasn’t out of his lovey mood yet – which Dean was oddly okay with, actually. He smiles when a tentacle reaches up to cup his face, marveling at how _natural_ it all seemed to feel now – the disgust that he remembers feeling when he first felt them grip at him is no longer there, and he finds himself leaning _into_ the touch instead of batting the limb away like he knows he would have done just a few days ago.

            It’s a smaller tentacle, he knows, the suckers tiny and barely able to grip onto his stubbly face. It makes him painfully aware of how long it’d been since he last shaved – the lack of mirrors was perhaps a good thing, because he was undoubtedly steadily starting to look like a homeless man.

            “Good morning,” Cas whispers, refusing to stop trailing down whatever path he’s started, tongue trailing along Dean’s veins. He feels teeth scrape at the skin, making him tense up again – despite everything, he’s not forgotten how _sharp_ a seraph’s teeth are, how easily Castiel could rip his throat out or puncture a vein. Castiel seems to understand, though, and just as fast as the pressure came it’s gone, tongue and lips replacing it.

            “Morning,” Dean whispers back, afraid to break the comforting quiet of the morning. “How long have you been up?”

            “Not long,” Castiel assures him, “I was going to let you sleep longer, but-“

            “Just couldn’t resist, huh?” Dean teases, groaning as he stretches out as much as he can, back arching off the bed as he tries to ease his sleep-sore muscles.

            Castiel grins in response, lips curving up and pressing against Dean’s skin. His hands are running along Dean, now, along his ribs and sides and hips, gripping on tight as he moves away so he can hover over the man. He’s not surprised when blue eyes rove over his body, fingertips following along and creating a tingling path of fire – inspection, of course, because apparently Cas couldn’t handle the day starting until he’d gotten his fill of Dean and made sure the hunter hadn’t miraculously hurt himself in the middle of the night. As unnecessary as it was, the look of complete concentration on Castiel’s face is enough to stop Dean from protesting any more.

            Besides, they’d already made their deal, and he’s not willing to have Cas go back over their terms. With his luck, he’d somehow wind up losing the few jobs he’d managed to wretch away from the seraph, and he’d _still_ wind up being inspected every damn morning.

            He barely catches Castiel nodding before he’s being flipped over, hands palming at his back and his legs, bending them up and checking over every damn inch of him. Dean entertains himself by threading his fingers through the vines, letting them dangle down and staring at the water, slightly churning thanks to Castiel’s tentacles flickering about in it.

            He bites back a yawn in time for Castiel to move him onto his back again, unwilling to risk spending the day in bed, and tosses Cas a sleepy grin.

            Cas looks a lot better today. The sleep had been good for him – the bandages are still a little bloody from last night, making things look bad, but the cuts that Dean hadn’t covered and the edges that had been showing through the bandages all seem to have healed up. He’ll have to take the bandages off today, see if the rest of the damage has healed up as nicely as those wounds or if he’ll have to patch him back up and demand he take it easy again.

            It’ll have to wait, though, because Cas is already climbing off of him, apparently content with his findings and ready to start the day.

            “What’s the rush?” Dean can’t help but ask, pushing himself up onto his elbows so he can lean down at Dean, now floating in the water.

            “Food,” Cas responds, “I have to get food, and my…thing,” he falters, hesitating before finally selecting the completely unhelpful word. Thing. What?

            Right. _Right_. It takes Dean’s foggy mind a minute to catch up, to recall the events of last night – Cas had taken off his coat, he realizes, as it’s now at the foot of their bed. He feels a slight pang of…something, not quite sadness, but pretty damn close. Cas frowns, one tentacle looping around Dean’s neck and dragging him down for a kiss.

            “It’s just for now,” Castiel assures him, “I didn’t want to ruin it, in the water-“

            “Right,” Dean says, uncertain, “no, man, it’s not – I don’t expect you to wear it all the time, that’d be crazy, it’s not-“

            Castiel quiets him down with another kiss, a rumble of pleasure shaking through the seraph’s body and making Dean internally preen.

            “I’ll put it back on when I return,” he promises, nodding his head at Dean. Dean smiles half-heartedly, lips pursed together too tightly to make the gesture sincere, and pushes himself up and away. The bed rocks as he settles down, leaning against the wall and waving his hand towards the entrance.

            “Go on then,” he says. Castiel smiles at him, tentacles twitching like they were considering wrapping around him again, before he sets off out of the cave and into the water.

            Dean’s still not sure what the _thing_ is, or what had been the big deal about the damn jacket last night – and the way he figures, he’s got until Cas comes back to figure everything out.

* * *

 

His stomach won’t settle, nerves flaring up and making him jittery. He’s already got the fish, enough to satisfy both of their needs (and to make up for his poor hunting job yesterday, he hopes) and he’s just swimming up to the small underwater cave he’d been using to hide his mating gift.

            He’d been satisfied with it before, when he had first made it. It was simple, yes, but not overly so – an arrangement of woven kelp and seaweed, with the prettiest of the seashells he’d found mixed in. It’s small, but large enough where he knows it’ll tie around his mate’s neck, a nice reminder of his claim and their shared bond, much like Dean’s jacket now is to him.

            He frowns as he remembers his mate’s disappointed look when he’d woken up and realized Cas had taken the jacket off already. That look had made a deep-seated feeling of guilt sit itself inside of him, a feeling he still hadn’t been able to shake off. It wasn’t as it he _wanted_ to take the jacket off – he wanted it on all the time, wanted to feel it’s steady weight and know that it was proof that his courtship had been _accepted_ – all he had to was get his gift onto Dean, and the courtship would be complete. They could get started on the much more fun mating part – he was already planning on where he wanted to place his mating bite. The neck was most common, he knew, but with his gift already around Dean’s neck he’s not sure if he wants another claim in the same area. Perhaps on one of his shoulders, or his thigh?

            He swims through the cave, quickly finding the tiny crevice he’d hidden his gift in long ago. First things first – he had to get this onto Dean, and then he would debate where he wanted to further mark him. He knew deep down it wasn’t common for submissives to give gifts to their dominants – his mother hadn’t given his father anything during their courtship, it simply wasn’t part of the ritual. But, knowing what he did from the humans on the beach, Castiel understands that for Dean’s people this is significant. Both parties must give a gift, however insignificant (in the girl’s case, because Dean’s gift was wonderful and something Castiel knew he would always treasure), to symbolize their interest. Dean had done so – had given him _permission_ , the signal that he was okay with Castiel completing the courtship! He only wished that he had brought his gift up to the surface sooner, that he had hidden it in his nest instead of so far away – then he could have given it to Dean moments after, like he had the feeling he was supposed to.

            But, at the time he hadn’t set up his nest yet, and he hadn’t wanted to constantly carry the gift around. He needed some place to store it while he worked on it and while he tried to find his nest, and this small cavern had seemed appropriate at the time. He’d kept it in a now water-logged box, hidden from anyone who wasn’t purposefully looking for it – and, sure enough, when Castiel felt around he easily found and pulled the nearly destroyed wooden box out. He dragged it closer to him, withstanding the urge to pull it open now – he would wait, wait until he got to the surface and then he would make sure that it was okay.

            He had no idea what he would do if it wasn’t – he had no backup plan, and he’d promised Dean his gift _today_. He refused to go back on his word – mostly because he wasn’t sure if he wanted to give Dean more time to think things over, more time to decide that perhaps some human on the land may be better suited for him (as foolish as that thought may be). Such ideas would be gone once the courtship and mating was completed, and Castiel yearned for that sense of certainty and stability. Dean would finally be _his_ , with no chance of anyone taking him away.

            He surfaces a safe distance away from the cave, not wanting to chance Dean seeing him inspect the gift, just in case something _is_ wrong. Then he’ll have to figure something out – make something new, something just as good for him, because he was not going to mess up something so crucial as this.

            A screech of delight almost echoes through the air when he opens the box and finds that the necklace is undisturbed – waterlogged, yes, but wearable and good and perfect, just as when he made it. He’ll need to polish the shells and stones up a little before he gives it to Dean, and he heads towards the beach to do so, crawling his way onto the grass and using the dew-wet blades to get some of the dirt and grim off.

            By the time he’s done the fish are dead, their incessant flopping about finally come to an end, and the necklace is shining in a way it hasn’t since he first made it. Dean will like it. At least, Castiel hopes he will. He _has_ to, because what will he do if he _doesn’t_?

            Another wave of sick nerves makes his stomach clench up, as he grips the necklace almost too tight, releasing it when he fears the green bands will tear. Sucking in a deep breath, he starts crawling back towards the cave, mindful to keep both the fish and the necklace as far from the dirty ground as possible. He can do this. Dean will like this. He’ll smile and be happy and they’ll kiss again and everything will be perfect between them, finally. They’ll be able to officially become mates, and Dean will be his and he’ll finally have a family instead of just an empty nest. There’s nothing to worry about.

            That doesn’t take any of the worry away, unfortunately, and by the time Cas is pausing in front of the entrance he feels like he’s going to be sick. What if Dean really doesn’t like this? What if he waited too long, what if the opportune moment was immediately after Dean’s gift, just like he had seen on the beach? Dean had said it was okay – but what if that was a trick, a test to see if Castiel really knew what he was doing, and he had failed? Would Dean laugh at him, throw his gift away and demand to be taken back to the mainland?

            No. He takes another shuddering breath. None of that is going to happen. Dean had given him his gift. He’d kissed back, he’d cuddled up against Castiel last night and there’d been no fights about clothes or inspection or _anything_. And Dean had looked honestly upset when Castiel left the nest, like he wanted him to stay even though they couldn’t finish courtship if he did – certainly Dean wouldn’t have been so upset if he was planning on dismissing Castiel. He was worrying over nothing. He smiled, at first to himself and then at the realization that this was going to officially be one of his last few moments as an unmated seraph – of course, he had stopped thinking of himself as one as soon as he first heard Dean, but soon it would be undeniable, and that sent a rush of eagerness and joy through him. Soon enough the smile was genuine and filled with excitement, and he could no longer stay fidgeting in front of their cave.

            Dean’s walking along the ledge when he gets back, stretching his legs up as he leans against the wall for support. Seeing him all stretched out sends a spark of interest through Castiel – he wants to reach forward, tug Dean down so he can touch. Dean doesn’t even seem aware of his presence, eyes shut and face calm and relaxed as he stretches out his muscles.

He slides over, grabbing the jacket from where he’d placed it after he woke up and sliding it over his shoulders, careful to keep quiet and to keep his gift out of the water. The scent of his mate relaxes him immensely, easing the tension that had been knotting his stomach and sending a wave of desire through him. This was right. This was going to be _fantastic,_ a day neither of them would forget, and he can’t help but smile at the thought.

            He lets his mate remain unaware for a few short moments, taking the time to steady himself and to enjoy the look of complete relaxation, before clearing his throat and catching his attention. Dean’s eyes fly open and his leg shoots back down, hand gripping the jagged wall to steady himself and keep from losing his balance. Castiel’s already got a tentacle out in front of him, just in case his sudden arrival would truly have made Dean fall over, but ultimately it proves unnecessary – Dean rights himself long before tumbling, and when he looks down at Cas he smiles again, sending another wave of calm through him. Right. He was right – Dean was smiling at him, and if Dean was smiling at him that meant everything was okay.

            Dean walks over to him, bending down so they’re level and reaching a hand out to grab at Cas’ shoulder, anchoring them together. Temptation proves too much, and even though it goes against Castiel’s original plan (which was solely to get his gift onto Dean as quickly as possible) he can’t help but lean forward and kiss him, dragging himself out of the water a little as he tries to keep as little distance between them as possible without damaging the gift he’s still holding in his hands.

            He pulls away, reluctantly, when Dean seems interested in taking things further, one hand gripping Castiel’s hair. He can’t risk losing himself in this – he has a mission to accomplish, and he will not be distracted. Kissing comes after, he reminds himself, they’ll have plenty of time for it in the future, after all.

            “Cas?” Dean asks, voice a low rumble.

            He’s blushing – he can feel it, can feel the faint warmth of the blood rushing through his veins and up to his face, and he’s grateful that the cave is dark enough where Dean hopefully won’t notice his clear embarrassment and nervousness. Now is not the time for weakness, now is the time to show Dean that he was a good dominant, a good mate, and that he had chosen well.

            He holds his hands up, his gift now in clear sight for Dean to see. Green eyes rove over it, confusion overtaking lust, before Dean looks up at him with a helpless expression. Castiel sighs and fidgets nervously, fingers twitching.

            “It’s…my gift,” he says, softly, pushing it out towards Dean, “my courtship gift.” He finishes, lamely.

            “Your _what_?” Dean’s hand untangles from his hair, withdrawing, and Castiel immediately misses it’s steadying presence. What…what is going on?

            “My courtship gift,” he repeats, “you gave me your jacket, signifying your interest and approval – this is my gift, the final step in the courtship. Wearing it will signify to all others that you are my mate.”

            Dean’s eyes go wide, and suddenly he’s stumbling back, away from Castiel, withdrawing as though he’d been burned. He’s hampered only by Castiel’s still clinging tentacles, gripping him tight in confusion and fear. Why is Dean moving away? His eyes are wide, filled with terror – undoubtedly mirroring Castiel’s own expression, as he frantically tries to put everything together and figure out what is going on.

            This isn’t like what happened on the beach – Dean should be smiling and kissing him, he should be putting his gift around Dean’s neck, its new permanent resting place. Dean shouldn’t be moving _away_ from him, but he still is – flexing against the tentacles that are bound around him, until Castiel finally releases him out of confusion and despair.

            Dean doesn’t hesitate, pressing his back against the wall of the cave, as far from Castiel as he can get without running out and leaving the cave.

            “I don’t understand,” Castiel says, confusing marring his tone as he waves his tentacles, practically begging Dean to come back towards him, “you…you gave me your jacket, custom dictates that you proposed intent to me-“

            “ _Proposed_?” Dean sputters, “no – Cas, it – it was just a _jacket_ , it’s not even in good shape anymore – you were _injured_ and it was kinda my fault, I was being nice I wasn’t – _marriage_?”

            He doesn’t recognize the last word – it’s never been said on the beach, not that he can recall, and he desperately tries to figure out its context.

            “But the couple on the beach-“ Castiel protests, drawing up closer, a flash of horror shuddering through him when Dean tries to retreat further, entire body pressed as far from Castiel as possible.

            “What couple on the beach?” Dean’s voice is off-key, panic making it rise and crack, and as suddenly as Castiel had been approaching him he falls back, crashing back into the water and staring helplessly. “I – I need some air, shit, fuck-“ Dean drags a hand through his hair, wincing when his path out takes him closer to Castiel than he apparently would have liked.

            And, just as suddenly as Dean had entered his life – he was gone, running out of the cave and out of sight.

* * *

 

Dean stumbles outside, head aching and the sound of his own blood rushing through his body pounding agonizingly loud. _Proposal_? His mind keeps throwing that word at him, teasing and taunting him, and by the time he reaches the center of the island he feels like he’s going to vomit.

            This shouldn’t surprise him, he tries to tell himself – Castiel had never tried to hide his intentions, and Dean hadn’t exactly been steering him _away_ , kissing him and agreeing to try things out and all.

            He just didn’t realize how fast Cas would go – one day they were figuring out how to live together without killing or arguing, and the next Castiel was insisting that Dean had _proposed_ and they were essentially going to get – well, whatever the interspecies equivalent of hitched is.

            Running a hand through his hair, he staggers towards one of the trees – the same one he had hidden in, only days ago, he realizes with a self-depreciating laugh. It didn’t feel like days – it felt like weeks, months, hell, maybe even a year had passed since seeing Sam screaming up on the cliffside and feeling like he was going to get his limbs torn off of him one by one. It’s cooler under the tree, and as he leans his bare back against the bark he mourns his loss of clothes – he doesn’t even want to think about what the hell he’s sitting on, naked ass pressed into the ground and the rough tree digging into his back. Hiding his face into his hands, he focuses first on controlling his breathing.

            Then he tries to push Castiel’s face out of his mind – the heartbroken confusion, the hands that were trying not to wring the life out of whatever gift he had brought Dean, the tentacles that had been fighting to stop themselves from reaching out and grabbing him, preventing him from leaving like Castiel had known he was planning on. He feels like _shit_ , for multiple reasons, as he realizes he’s pretty much done nothing but led Castiel on.

            He has no idea how he fucking feels about the seraph – he’s a _seraph_ , for Christ’s sake, this shouldn’t even be something Dean had to worry about. He didn’t want to get married to a human back on the mainland – didn’t even want to get into a relationship with any of them, certainly he didn’t want the kind of permanence he had the feeling _this_ was going to have.

Except, _shit_ , he can’t push away the _face_ Cas had made, and the way he’d just sort of…let Dean go, like he didn’t understand what was going on or how to stop any of it.

            And okay, yeah, so apparently Cas had thought Dean had what… _proposed_ to him? With a shitty torn up suit jacket? Where the fuck would he have gotten that idea? It certainly wasn’t something Dean had mentioned to him – he’d only mentioned marriage in passing, and he knows he would have remembered if he’d talked to Cas about how it actually worked and how people actually went about committing. So Cas must have gotten his knowledge of the human custom from somewhere else – but he’d seemed confused when Dean first mentioned it, and it didn’t sound like something seraph’s had any sort of equivalent to, besides whatever the fuck Cas was trying to do back in the cave.

            The couple on the beach, though. Cas had mentioned them, and Dean still had no idea what the hell he was talking about. He supposed he should have figured Cas had frequented beaches before finding him – if he’d already decided he didn’t like any of the seraphs for mates, beaches would have been the easiest place to get near humans. And it wasn’t like it was uncommon for stupid humans to take walks or meet up on them – there was still this sense of beauty that surrounded the ocean, exaggerated by the dangers lurking under the tossing waves. People didn’t handle being told ‘no, stay away,’ very well, Dean figured, and while most of them stayed out of the water that apparently didn’t do much.

            So Cas must have gotten his info from some couple he’d seen on the beach (and, fuck, Dean pointedly ignores thinking about what _else_ Cas may have seen on the beach, because he had the distinct feeling the seraph had no sense of shame or understanding of privacy). So…Cas must have seen something that confused the shit out of him on the beach then, or had some kind of misunderstanding, because there was no human custom that equated giving a jacket to a marriage proposal.

            Unless, of course, Cas had misunderstood the situation entirely – to a creature like him, the significance and meaning certain objects held probably…didn’t exist. A ring held no more meaning that a torn up jacket, and if Cas had seen someone propose with a ring…

            Well. Yeah. Dean clears his throat and tugs at his hair. He can see how Cas would be confused, now, how he wouldn’t know any better. The thing was – how the hell was Dean supposed to know Cas thought that was how it worked? How was he supposed to know Cas would take his _friendly_ gesture and give it all kinds of unintended meaning?

            And, more importantly – would that have mattered? If Dean _had_ known what Cas would take the jacket to mean – would he have found something else to use? A jacket or something from the boxes, or maybe just left Cas to fend for himself – would he have thought twice about giving him the damn thing, would he have explained how it was just a friend thing, not a declaration of love or whatever Cas had taken it to mean?

            He swallows, throat clenching, before groaning. _Fuck_. He tugs harder at his hair, nearly pulling the strands out of his scalp, as he tries to avoid thinking of the answer to that question.

            _No_. Shit. Fuck. _No_ , it wouldn’t have stopped him, would it? He still would’ve given Cas the damn thing. Especially if he knew the happy look Cas would give him in response, the kiss and the _joy_ that would just radiate off the damn seraph all day, up until his botched proposal.

            He didn’t want to leave Cas. He didn’t want Cas to leave him. Didn’t want him to find some other human or seraph to settle down with, to give whatever the fuck his gift was, didn’t want his jacket tossed aside (because there was no way Dean was going to be able to look at the damn thing ever again, not if he left or if Cas left or _ever_ , there’d be too much badness associated with the damn thing). He doesn’t want that joy directed towards anyone else, as selfish as he knows that makes him, doesn’t want to _share_ what it felt like to have all of that directed towards him.  

            He _wants_ Cas. Wants him desperately, wants to be wanted by him and he doesn’t want to fuck that up and throw it away. But… _marriage_? There was wanting and there was marriage and they were in such different spheres, one so much more extreme than the other, and he didn’t want to do this if something was going to go wrong later on (as it inevitably did) and Cas wouldn’t want him but he’d be _stuck_ with him, and then Cas would be miserable and it would be Dean’s fault and he’d be so fucked up not even a _seraph_ would want to deal with him.

            What the fuck is he supposed to do, then? He _can’t_ leave – can’t, he’d never make it back to the mainland without begging Cas to take him back. He was attached, damn it, and there was just no way he was going to be able to leave Castiel, even if it was the right thing to do or the best thing for both of them or whatever. But how was he supposed to stay _now_ , when Cas was ready to settle down and all that shit while Dean was still in his commitment-is-terrifying mindset?

            If he left, Cas would find someone else. If he stayed, there was no going back to whatever sort of balance in relationship they’d had before (friends? Friends who kissed? What was that even called, was there a name for it?). Cas would either move on and find someone else, someone who wanted to settle down and someone who’d take his damn gift without running out on him (and then what, what would happen to Dean? Would he stay as some kind of third party, would Cas be too respectful or pity him too much to ask him to leave? Or would Cas tell him point-blank that he was no longer needed here, that there wasn’t enough space or something, and he’d go back like it or not) or…or he was going to have to figure out how to be exactly what Cas needed. Marriage (or whatever the seraph word for it was) and all.

            Of course, that was all assuming Cas would even _want_ him back. Shit. He pulls his hands out of his hair, reluctantly, the pain of tugging at the strands starting to become unwanted. He needs to think, needs to think without his head pounding and his stomach rolling, and if he can at least control one of those than he’s damn well going to. The pain doesn’t go away, of course, but at least he’s not increasing it anymore. Instead he busies his restless hands with running first along his shoulders, chasing away the slight chill of the air, and then with, well, each other. He laces his fingers together, nails digging tiny crescents into his skin, a new sensation of pain to contend with but less annoying and inhibiting than the hair pulling.

            Cas might not want him anymore. The idea hurts, the sting of rejecting sending an answering burning sensation of tears building up in his eyes, as he blinks heavily to stop them from falling. He could have fucked up a little too much, this time; Cas might not want him back. And Dean couldn’t blame him – if he had gone out and proposed to someone and they’d just run off on him, he’d be _crushed_. And certainly not in any emotionl state to just welcome them back, forgive them and pretend they’d never left in the first place. What is he supposed to do, if he goes back in there intending to stay and Cas tells him no? He’d _deserve_ it, there’d be no reason to try and convince Cas to rethink things, and that makes the lump inside of his stomach knot painfully.         

            He’ll never know out here, though, he tells himself. Sitting out here is just avoiding the problem, and eventually he’s going to have to go back to the cave and face Cas – no matter what his decision is. The longer he waits the worse things are going to be, and pretty soon it’s not going to matter what Dean wants – Cas’ll probably decide for him, and that will be that. So he needs to figure out what he’s doing, or what he wants to do, and he needs to figure it out _fast_ , so he can get back in there before Cas has too much time to think for himself.

            Everything _hurts_ , though, it feels like no matter what he does there’s just no way he’s going to come out of this happy – Cas isn’t going to want him, not anymore, and even with that knowledge he’s not strong enough to turn tail and break things off first. Because…what if Cas _does_ , by some miracle, there’s gotta be some small chance that maybe Cas’ll let him stay and maybe they can scrape things together and –

            And _shit_. He untangles his fingers, raising his palm to press against his eyes and starts rubbing, chasing away the pain until dots appear behind his eyelids. When did he get in so deep? When did Cas stop being a bloodthirsty seraph, when did he stop plotting his way back home? When had he started _wanting_ this? He couldn’t remember, had no idea, but it was too late for any of that now – he was _in_ and that was that, there was no going back from it. For whatever reason, Cas’ creepy and weird ways had grown on him, and the idea of leaving him and never seeing him again made him feel sick.

            He stands up before he can think about it anymore, legs jello-like and nearly giving out on him as he makes his way back towards the cave. He can’t feel his feet, the way he was sitting has made the pins and needle sensation in them sharpen before fading to a fuzzy sort of nothingness, but he tries not to think about that, knowing that the more he does the more likely he is to lose his balance and fall down. He’s not sure he has it in him to get up again, not without talking himself out of inevitably getting hurt, so he’s gotta take this chance while he can.

            All too soon he’s in front of the cave, hovering just out of sight and trying to regulate his breathing. He can hear something, too faint to make out what exactly it is but process of elimination tells him it’s probably Cas, so at least he’s still in the cave.

Then again, maybe that’s not such a good thing. If Cas wasn’t in the cave anymore, Dean would have one last chance to back out – it would be like a sign, he figured, a good clue as to how stupid he was being and how he was just going to make a fool of himself. But Cas is here and Dean is here and he’s not so sure he could sneak away again, not without making noise, and he doesn’t want to make a fool of himself _again_ , thank you very much.

            He steps inside as quietly as he can, tiptoeing and holding his arms out as much as he can to stabilize his balance.

            What he sees inside breaks his heart – the noise was Cas, definitely, he can _see_ that now. He wasn’t just crying, he was _sobbing_ , his body shivering and jerking and his tentacles all curled around himself defensively. He wants to rush towards him, right now, grab him and hold him until it stopped, until he was smiling and happy again. But he’s not sure he has any right to do that, not anymore, and he doesn’t want to make things _worse_ by mistake.

            Cas hasn’t noticed him yet, and he’s not sure if that’s a good thing or not – on the one hand, he likes that he can do this on his own terms, kind of. On the other, it’s weird, and he has the feeling if Cas had noticed him he would have tried harder to stop crying and that would make things a little less awkward, hopefully. He’s about to step closer when Cas apparently decides to stop crying on his own, though it doesn’t really work, and if anything his efforts to contain the body-wracking cries just makes him hiccup and his breathing is more erratic and pitiful. He’s still got Dean’s jacket on – he’d barely even noticed that Cas had slipped it on, earlier, and he can’t help but smile at the sight. The jacket may be torn to shreds and it may not fit him right, but the fact that Cas could consider it such an important treasure…it was _nice._

That feeling doesn’t last for very long, as Dean notices that Cas is slithering away towards the corner he had previously kept the folded jacket. He curls in on himself a little, and Dean starts stepping forward just as Cas starts slipping the jacket off of his shoulders, wet tentacles leaving soggy imprints in the material as he heaves it over his shoulders so he can grab it with his hands, folding it carefully and running his hands along it like it were some delicate, priceless artifact.

            He starts talking before he can stop himself, letting his instincts take over – it’s all he can think to do, because at least then he can say he wasn’t thinking, he didn’t mean any of it, if Cas looks at him strangely or puts him down. “what, man, I know it’s a little tattered but seriously? If you don’t like it I can find something else to give you-“

            It’s meant to be a joke, which Dean should have known was a poor choice. Now was not the time for jokes, after all, he should be fucking _apologizing_ , begging Castiel to take him back and forget about how he’d pretty much run out on him. Cas whirls around, dropping the jacket in his haste, and Dean swallows, loudly and nervously.

            He regrets talking. He should have stayed quiet and waited for Cas to notice him. Or just snuck out of the damn cave. This was a mistake. He was making a huge, terrifying mistake, because there was no way Cas was going to look past his running away and now there was no denying that that was exactly what Dean was asking him to do – and joking about the damn gift, Cas was going to think he was proposing, he _had_ to propose, if Cas was going to take him back then that was that, they were fucking getting seraph hitched. Dean Winchester, a married man. Settled down and shit. A home and a family. Who would have thought? Well – Dean Winchester, _maybe_ married man. Still up in the air, he reminds himself, still more likely to end up being Dean Winchester, lonely bachelor forever pining over a seraph and unable to ever love again or move on with his damn life. Yeah. The first one sounded so much better.

            He doesn’t get much of a chance to think about that, though – as soon as Cas gets over his initial shock he’s barreling over to Dean, tentacles making loud noises as the suckers cling and pop off of the ground he’s dragging himself over. Sheer force of will keeps Dean from moving away like he first intends – he makes himself stay still, not wanting to give Cas the wrong idea, not wanting to add to the sting of rejection.

            Cas still stops, though, remembering himself halfway between arriving at Dean’s feet and attempting to throw himself onto the man. Dean’s oddly grateful – he’s not sure he could support the sudden weight, not without falling. He clears his throat awkwardly and scrubs his hand over the back of his neck as he stares down at Cas, before finally bending down so they’re at least eyelevel. It makes things a little less awkward, though Cas’ hands twitch as if they’re fighting against the urge to reach out and grab at Dean. It’s comforting, in a way – if Cas is holding himself back, maybe there was a small chance this wouldn’t end as terribly as Dean feared.

            “ _Dean_ ,” Cas breaths out, relief and joy melding together, his hands twitching again as his body leans starts to lean forward, “I - I’m _sorry_ , I didn’t, didn’t realize you wouldn’t know – on the beach, I saw-“

            Cas stops, takes a breath and holds out a hand when Dean opens his mouth to start speaking, cutting him off. “ _I’m sorry_ ,” Cas says, finally, “I am, but, Dean, please, _please_ , don’t leave me - not now, please, I know you’ve already given me so many chances, but just _one more, I’m begging you_ -“

            This time Dean raises up his hand, neatly covering Cas mouth and smiling at little when his lips drag against his skin as Cas keeps talking. “You don’t have anything to apologize for, man,” he says, pulling his hand away when a look of absolute horror crosses Cas’ face. “What’s wrong?” He asks, worriedly, eyebrows scrunching together. Cas glances over at the jacket, and now he looks worried, mouth opening a few times before finally getting the words he wanted out,

            “Did you say something else to give me?” Cas asks, a lilt of hope coloring his voice.

            Dean falters, running his hand through his hair and glancing down nervously, “well, I mean, you don’t seem to like the jacket too much, and I can’t say I blame you-“ he falls back on his old joke, hoping the familiarity of it will ease the tension in the room and make this less of a…well, a moment, he guesses, because right now he can’t even look Cas in the eye without running the risk of blushing and he really doesn’t want that.

            “No!” Cas nearly screeches at him, and now it appears all of his barriers are lost, as Dean suddenly is on his ass with a lap full of seraph, and Cas is wrapping himself around Dean like he’s a present and it’s Cas’ life mission to keep him hidden. “No! Dean, I didn’t – I thought you said you didn’t _want_ – I want the jacket, please, don’t be mad, I didn’t mean to offen-“

            “Hey!” Dean tries to interrupt, though Cas’ voice just gets louder as he continues to beg for unneeded forgiveness, apparently now terrified that he’d somehow managed to _insult_ Dean, and they were going to have to have a long conversation later about how Cas was definitely not the one in the wrong here and Dean was going to give him a damn formal apology for running out like that, but first he had to figure out how to get a word in “Cas, hey, _stop talking!_ ”

            Cas stops, looking down ashamed, and Dean feels a little bad, but at least now he can _talk_. He runs a hand through Cas’ hair, tugging lightly on the strands as he waits for Cas to look up at him again. He doesn’t start talking until he does, even though the watery blue makes it hard to think about what he wanted to say, “it was a joke, man,” he says, reaching over until his fingertips graze over the jacket. It takes a bit of finagling for him to actually be able to grab it, but when he does he settles it over Cas’ shoulder, brushing off imaginary dust and smiling. Cas still looks close to tears, but he tugs the jacket closer to him the second it hits his skin, and his lips quirk up in a small half-smile that Dean will definitely count as a major victory.

            He glances around, eyes catching on the flash of green that he remembers Cas holding earlier. His present. Because apparently in seraph-land proposing went both ways. Okay. He could live with that, he guessed. Cas is still staring at him, though, having apparently forgotten about the gift that he was so excited about earlier, and Dean wonders if he should even bring it up.

            In the end, the need to crack another joke to hopefully get Cas to smile wins out, and he whistles lightly to catch Cas attention. Cas body snaps as he looks over to where Dean is staring, his body stiffening as he presumably recognizes his discarded gift. Dean puts on his best sad face, even though Cas isn’t looking at him to see it, and says “damn. Guess my proposal got rejected then, huh?”

            Again, _it was only meant to be a joke_ , but Dean figures by now he probably should have realized that Cas didn’t’ seem to _get_ jokes. The seraph’s focus shifts back over to him, confusion clear on his face, before he suddenly just seems to _get it_. Dean doesn’t know what he’s expecting, but really, he probably _should_ have been anticipating the reaction he had gotten. Cas is off of his lap in an instant, a hurried litany of _no’s_ falling from his lips as the bottom of the jacket drags against the ground as Cas hurries to retrieve his gift, crawling back to Dean slower but no less determined.

            That determination is gone when he finally holds the gift out to Dean, hands spreading so Dean has his first real chance to see what the fuck it even was. Cas looks terrified, and Dean can’t say he blames him, considering last time.

            It’s…a necklace, he realizes, made of some kind of seaweed. There are shells all woven into it, and it’s clear the thing is handmade from the slightly messy arrangement. It’s pretty all the same though – the type of thing he’s sure some girls would pay a fortune for in beachside stores, and would be thrilled to receive as a gift from their boyfriends. It’s not something Dean would ever decide to wear for himself, but looking at Cas’ still watery eyes, there’s just no way he’s going to tell him that guys don’t normally wear jewelry like that.

            Instead he turns his back to Cas, and he can hear the panicked gasp he gets in respond, but before Cas can start talking or continue to freak out he says, “you gonna help put it on, man? Not sure I can tie it myself.”

            For a moment nothing happens, and he wonders if maybe Cas hadn’t heard him, or he’d thought better and decided he didn’t actually want this, or if he’d been playing Dean so he’d have his own chance at turning the man down. Those fears are quickly chased away, as apparently it had just taken a few minutes for Dean’s words to sink in as acceptance, and then Dean has a definite weight pressing against him, the necklace at first a little too tight in Cas’ haste to get it around him. It loosens pretty quickly, probably as a result of Dean’s startled gasp, and he can hear Cas humming to himself as he ties the two ends together.

            The second it’s secure Cas is turning him around, tentacles at first keeping them separated as he stares at Dean’s face, searching. Dean smiles, head tilting down in a vain attempt to see the necklace – of course, he couldn’t, it was more of a chocker than anything, so instead his hand comes up to toy with it, running along the slightly wet seaweed and the smooth shells. It has a bit of weight to it, something Dean knows he’s going to have to get used to, and he has the feeling he’s going to constantly need Cas’ help when it comes to taking it off and on. He’s not sure how long or how often he’s supposed to wear it, either – Cas took his jacket off, so clearly it was at least okay to do, but he didn’t want to risk insulting him by asking immediately after putting it on.

            He glances up, leaning into Cas’ touch, and startles at the fierce, possessive intent he’s greeted with. Cas eyes are trained on his neck, roving over the area as a tentacle pokes at Dean’s chin, tiling his head up and barring more of the area for Castiel to see. Dean shivers, anticipation and confusion sending conflicting waves of emotion through him.

            All of a sudden the tentacles that had been holding him back jerk, twitching around his skin and pushing him onto his back, providing a barrier between his skin and the hard stone ground. Cas is on him in an instant, mouthing at his neck and collarbone and making snarling noises that Dean’s never heard before. They’re aggressive, almost, and coupled with the fact that Cas and his teeth are pressed right against some very important veins in his neck Dean knows he should be terrified, but the hold Cas has on him is more possessive and protective than it is dangerous and threatening, and Cas’ mouth is moving up quickly until he’s kissing Dean, lips demanding and insistent against him. Cas is still making those weird growly noises, body shaking and reverberating against Dean, and when a tongue runs along his lips Dean finally decides _fuck it_ and throws himself into the kiss, tilting his head and giving as much as Castiel was. It’s messy and hard and a little painful, Cas teeth nipping at Dean’s lower lip hard enough for him to feel but thankfully not hard enough to break the skin, and when the action results in a choked moan from Dean Castiel’s growls get deeper. The grip on him increases, growing more painful as Cas tries to press closer, one hand gripping Dean’s hair to force his head off the ground and the other grabbing at his hip, twisting into the flesh there. Tentacles are _everywhere_ , some roving over his body while others remain stationary, grip on Dean sure and consistent, not allowing him any sort of movement. He can’t so much as raise his hand, can’t run his fingers through Cas’ hair or cup his cheek – not with one hand weighed down and plastered to the floor while the other is held up, two smaller tentacles toying with his fingers, wrapping around them in a mockery of holding hands until Dean’s sure his fingers aren’t even _visible_.

            He’s panting when Cas pulls away, desperate breathing in to try and get some air back into his lungs – and he barely gets the chance, noting the faintest hint of something completely wild and uncontrolled in Cas’ eyes before they’re pressed together again, Dean’s back now arched as he’s pushed forward to meet Castiel’s lips.

            “ _Mine_ ,” he hears, mumbled between kisses. He leans back, trying to get some distance so he can figure out if he heard correctly, but Cas hardly lets him move and chases after him, kissing him like he downright _needs_ it. The same word gets mumbled a few more times, though, in between desperate presses of lips and tongue and teeth.

            The next time Cas pulls away to let him breath, he doesn’t move away, just moves his lips to start kissing and mouthing and licking at Dean’s face, reddened wet lips planting kisses everywhere he possibly could – cheeks, forehead, nose, chin, the corner of his eye where he knows his skin has already started to crease, despite his young age, all open-mouthed kisses with his tongue trailing out, hot and wet against Dean’s already-feverish skin.

            “ _Cas_ ,” he breaths out, “what-“

            “ _Mine_ ,” Cas repeats, louder this time, nodding and pressing another hard kiss to Dean’s jaw, “ _you’re mine_ , Dean.” Dean tries to muster up some kind of fear at the possessive words, but the glee in Cas’ voice and the constant affection is making him preen and he finds himself nodding, as if in agreement.

            “Yeah, okay – yours, Cas, ‘m yours,” the words fall out without true thought, and Dean laughs when he realizes the truth behind them, realizes that _yeah_ , now he really is Cas’. Cas’ human, his mate, whatever – he had agreed to it. Humans would have a fit. _Sam_ would have a fit.

            But, in that moment, with Cas laying on top of him kissing him like this moment was nothing but the purest of victories, he can’t find it in himself to care.

* * *

 

Cas hasn’t stopped smiling for the past week. He’s not sure he can stop, now, not sure he knows _how_ to – his lips are in this permanent upturned state, his cheeks hurting from the consistency, but even that isn’t enough to make him stop. He’s smiling when he wakes up in the morning, wrapped around Dean, and he’s still smiling when he’s about to fall asleep, Dean’s soft and sleepy huffs lulling and soothing him into unconsciousness, their bodies plastered together.

            The mere sight of green around Dean’s neck was enough to set him off, to make him grab the man and tug him closer. It had been difficult to keep himself off of Dean before – now, it was practically impossible, the idea of not holding his mate was as ludicrous as forgoing food. They haven’t mated, not yet, though that’s hardly Castiel’s will. He’s tried, a few times, tried running a tentacle down along Dean’s cock and teasing it into filling, mesmerized by the way something so limp and soft can become hard and pulsing with a little effort. But then Dean will shake his head, will pull away, and Cas knows better than to try and continue. The slightest of refusals is enough to stop everything, as he can think of nothing worse than a repeat of that awful night Dean had thought he’d _force_ him.

            He’s impatient, though, and uncertain as to what they’re waiting for. Dean has accepted his courtship, the arguments between the two of them have lessened dramatically (though that is not to say they’ve disappeared altogether – Dean is still stubborn in his desire to care for himself, and more and more often Cas has found himself on the losing side of arguments due to his desire to keep his mate happy. He clings to the jobs they agreed upon, refusing to give them up even as Dean wins the right to wear boxers and pants during the day and insists that Cas let him go to the freshwater pond alone). Something is holding them back, though, something keeps making Dean tell him that he’s not ready yet, and until Castiel can figure out what that something is and remedy it he’s left with an unfulfilled claim on his mate.

            His father would either be disappointed or hysterical over how long this has been going on – it’s a stark contrast to the few hours it took between his parents meeting and mating, though perhaps that was just as unusual.

            His tentacles snap as he grabs at another fish, its body convulsing wildly as it tries to free itself from his grip. He’s probably got enough to head back now, but Dean seems to be getting thinner – he doesn’t remember being able to feel his ribs so easily, and while the muscle of his legs and arms have grown and his chest definitely looks more filled out then when Castiel had first found him, there’s this inexplicable understanding that his mate has simultaneously been losing weight. He hasn’t heard his stomach growl, not in the past week, so all he can do is bring more food back and hope it proves enough to sooth his rising concerns.

            A thrumming sound fills the ocean, reverberating through the water and casting unnatural ripples in the water above him. Castiel tenses, his tentacles puffing out and snapping to their full length, the ones holding the fish gripping tighter in preparation to show his strength.

            He hasn’t heard that sound in quite some time, but the memory is strong enough to leave no doubt in his mind – a boat. Some human, possibly multiple humans, have dared to enter the water again, and they’ve made the unfortunate mistake of choosing a recently mated seraph’s territory to do so. The need to protect his mate and his nest war with his promise to Dean, his promise not to kill unnecessarily, the conflicting obligations making him growl in displeasure.

            Dean would get angry if Castiel just sank the boat and killed the intruders. He’d want Castiel to have a _reason_ , to know for certain that the outsiders are in fact a threat and not just passive travelers. But there’s no reason for travelers to be out here – no one has been on the water in years, why would they start now? And leaving them to their own devices is likely to make them spread the word, and humans will think either seraphs as a whole have gone complacent or this area in particular is not guarded. Either option is unpleasant and will undoubtedly lead to more bloodshed – if anything, Castiel would be _lessening_ the damage if he were to simply rise up and take care of things now.

He’s still debating about what his plan is when he reaches the boat, a damaged wreck if he ever saw one, looking a few harsh waves away from busting a few holes and sinking to the bottom of the ocean. He supposes it’s only logical – people haven’t had a lot of reason to go out into the ocean, so certainly their boats wouldn’t be well kept. But, if you were going to go out into territory you knew was guarded by fierce creatures that could tear you apart…Castiel figured they’d be smart enough to at least _try_ and build something more durable, something that he wouldn’t have to simply _nudge_ to sink. It was almost insulting, really.

            He rears his head up, the loud jarring sounds of the boat enough to cover his arrival, and looks to see how many are on the boat. He’s not sure what he’s hoping for. A boat with lots of people would have to be dealt with, and Dean would be upset because of the massive amounts of casualties. A boat with a smaller amount….would still have to be dealt with, and Dean would probably _still_ be upset because he wouldn’t see the reason to go after such a ‘small’ threat. He could try talking to them, of course, like Dean had suggested, but that isn’t likely to end as well as his mate is hoping. Humans don’t seem particularly inclined to talk to seraphs –they’d probably grow upset at the attempt, and may even try to attack him. Of course, at least that would give him justifiable reason to kill them, even if they couldn’t actually do any harm. They weren’t passive travelers if they attacked him, even Dean couldn’t deny that.

            As it turns out, it’s a small amount of people – just two, from what Castiel can see, though there may be more hidden within the confines of the boat. Both male, judging from the smell and build of them, and both pale with brown hair. One of them looks short, though Castiel can’t tell if that is true or if he just looks small compared to the far taller man standing beside him. Neither are aware of his arrival – or, if they are, they don’t see fit to turn around so he can see their faces. The tallness of the man and his shaggy hair strike Castiel as familiar, though he cannot place _why_ , and as he swims closer to the boat so he can see them better he’s still warring with himself over what he should be doing. Once they see him he can’t just swim away – he’ll absolutely have to do something. He could lead them to safety, or at least protect them until they got there, Dean would probably like that, but Castiel didn’t want other humans hearing word and coming into the water…

            “ _Fuck, Garth, it’s him!_ ” One of the humans had turned around and spotted him, movements too sudden for Castiel to respond properly to. Before he had a chance hide under the waves the man is yelling, and it’s only then that he can place why he has that sense of familiarity about him.

            The man from the beach. The man who had been yelling at the top of the ledge, who had dived into the water after Castiel had taken Dean – Dean’s brother, according to his mate. His apparently stupid brother, who had been lucky enough to get out of the water unscathed and had decided to take things a step further and really test his luck.

            It’s lucky, he supposes, that Dean had told him this man was his brother. If he hadn’t, if Castiel still thought he was a suitor, his blood would already be draining into the water. As it stands, Castiel sees no reason to kill him – in fact, the man is far more useful to him alive.

            He’s not even sure if he _could_ kill him. True, he would never have to tell Dean about this…incident, but he’s not sure he could live with staring his mate in the eye every day knowing he killed his brother. It would be trying, and one day he may slip up, and Dean would never forgive him for such an act.

            Of course, none of his thoughts do him any good when all he’s doing is staring at the humans, bobbing in the water, while they panic and wave and point as if he wasn’t perfectly visible. The shorter man looks…oddly excited, fear still clear in his wide eyes and defensive posture but his hands are out in front of him, palms spread like he’s trying to placate Castiel. A ridiculous notion, but that hardly matters.

            The taller man is still shouting, hands fumbling as he pulls out a gun and aims it at Castiel. Castiel starts speaking before he pulls the trigger, waving a tentacle in the air to distract him, “I wouldn’t.”

            “Where’s my brother?” the man demands, as the shorter man reaches a hand out to grab at his shoulder, tugging.

            “Sam,” the shorter man says, “maybe this isn’t the best idea – that’s not gonna do anything, man, and even if it did it’s not gonna get you closer to your brother.”

            Sam, apparently, just shakes the other man off, stepping closer to the edge of the boat and aiming the gun at Castiel’s head. Castiel stares at him, bored, but doesn’t attack as he knows they’re expecting.

            “He’s with me, of course,” Castiel responds, “alive,” he takes on as an afterthought. He remembers how confused Dean had been, when he had first taken him, and though the idea is ludicrous to him he knows other humans would believe any human taken by a seraph would be killed. “Would you like to see him?”

            Castiel doesn’t know why he offers. Well, that’s not true - he does. Dean misses his brother. Dean cares deeply for his brother. He misses human contact in general, sure, though he’d never tell Castiel such things, but he can see the longing in his eyes every time he tells Castiel a story about his human family. Seeing Sam again will make Dean happy, and a happy mate will lead to matings.

            He gets an incredulous look for his thoughtfulness, and the gun remains pointed steadfast at his face. His body is quivering from the effort it’s taking to stand down, and he sighs out in relief when Sam shakily nods his head and tilts his shoulder, drawing attention to the other man he was with. Castiel cocks a brow and stares him down, internally preening when the man shivers and gulps, body hunching to make himself smaller. That was the proper reaction people should have to a seraph, he thought, not pointing a gun – guns were useless.

            He swims ahead quickly, stopping only after Sam yells a startled ‘hey’ and when he looks back the boat has barely moved at all. He swims back towards it. Of course, boats were slow, far slower than seraphs, and at the rate he was going they never would have been able to follow him.          It was going to take a long time to get them to the island – an exceedingly long time, when he realized that he was going to be away from his mate. He hadn’t been away from Dean for so long since they were mated, scarcely leaving his side save to get food, and while he knew Dean would probably enjoy the alone time, he wasn’t sure it would go over so well when it was unplanned. Dean hadn’t reacted well last time he had spent so long hunting, though then he had come back wounded – but what would stop his mate from thinking something ludicrous like that had happened again? Dean could be panicking and getting all worked up. He could go, swim to the cave and tell Dean what was going on and swim back – the boat wouldn’t have moved a significant distance, and as long as they stayed straight and kept the engine on Castiel should have no problem finding them. Of course, anything else in the water would also have no trouble finding them, and Castiel really didn’t want to have to tell Dean that his brother was coming for a visit only to lose the boat and occupants to the sea.

            So that left little choice but to stay and wait it out, and hope Dean’s happiness at seeing his brother would outweigh this anger at Castiel vanishing for so long. It doesn’t do anything to comfort his own fears of being away from his mate, but at this point there’s little he can do. Dean will be fine, he tells himself, a steady mantra repeating in his mind, he knows and promised not to leave the cave until Castiel came back, and as long as he did that nothing should bother him.

            He winds up swimming alongside of the boat, a little ahead so that he can lead them in the right direction. Every once in a while he dives under to listen and make sure that nothing is coming towards them (there never is, but Castiel is nothing if not cautious, especially when something that would serve to make his mate happy is on the line) before bobbing his head back above the surface so the humans have something to follow. For a while there is nothing but silence, and Castiel enjoys that – he can tell Dean’s brother doesn’t like him, and he enjoys the fearful silence of the other man, though in the past few minutes he’s been clearing his throat noisily and his eyes keep tracking back towards Castiel, flitting away whenever the seraph turned to look over his shoulder at him.

            When the other man walks towards the edge of the ship, Castiel all but ignores him. His tentacles puff up in response to being watched, showing his colors and his strength to warn the man off, though he knows he has no true reason to demonstrate his skills. This man is not a threat, but all the same, Castiel wants to impress him, wants them both to know that Dean is in safe care.

            “I’m Garth,” the man, Garth, says, startling Castiel out of his leisurely thoughts. He tilts his head back, looking at the man appraisingly. He’s got an unfamiliar drawl to his voice, not like Dean or Sam or any of the people on the beach, and Castiel absentmindedly wonders where he’s from and why he’s out here. He doesn’t look enough like his mate to warrant family connection – perhaps a mate, then? Sam’s mate?

            Garth is kneeling at the side of the boat, one hand curved over his eyes even though the sun is hardly that bright, and he’s squinting at Castiel, wincing when some powerful waves send droplets of water straight into his face. Castiel grunts in acknowledgement, reluctant to say too much and unsure of how to proceed – he’s never spoken a human outside of his mate, and he’s not sure what he’s supposed to be saying to them.

            “Do you have names?” Garth asks, and Castiel bites back an angry snarl. _Of course_ we have names, he wants to growl out, _do you really think you’re the only ones intelligent enough to name your offspring? Truly?_ He holds back, instead nodding his head and putting on what he hopes is a friendly expression, though judging from the way Garth straightens and his eyes widen he has the feeling he was unsuccessful.

            “Yes,” he says, “We have names.”

            “Oh,” Garth says, looking down for a moment before nodding to himself and glancing back at Castiel, “what’s yours?”

            Castiel pauses, expression faltering as he stares at Garth curiously. The man might be frightened, but he certainly wasn’t letting that fear get the best of him – if anything he looked inquisitive, leaning forward like he was unaware or simply didn’t care about the dangers of the crashing waves.

            “Castiel,” Castiel says, “My name is Castiel.”

            Garth whistles and slaps his hand against his leg, rocking back on his feet and smiling wide, “Alrighty then, Cas – Casteel?”

            “Castiel.”

            “Casiel?”

            “Cas _t_ iel,” Castiel tries not to let out a groan of frustration as Garth fumbles over his name, tongue clicking loudly against the roof of his mouth.

            “Cas?” Garth tries, which Castiel is quick to refute, repeating his name once more. Only Dean was allowed to call him that now – certainly not a stranger. Garth looks a little taken aback, but he quickly regains himself

            “Right, ha, Castiel,” the pronunciation still isn’t perfect, a little too much of a drawl stretching out his name, but it’s close enough where Castiel doesn’t feel the need to correct him. And Garth looks proud of himself, still rocking on his feet and smiling.

            He thinks that’ll be the end of their talk, and he has mixed feelings about that – on the one hand, Garth seems far kinder and more interested in him than Sam, whose hand keeps twitching every few moments towards his gun and who looks exceptionally pissed that Garth has even seen fit to talk to Castiel. On the other, he wants to focus on getting to the island as fast as possible, and he has the feeling Garth could be doing a lot more to help complete that goal.

            “So,” Garth drawls, stretching the short word out and letting it die off it in a faint whisper. He steps forward, until he’s at the edge of the boat, head sticking between the two tiny bar railings and hand raising up to grab onto them, steadying himself. “Is Dean – he’s really been with you, this whole time? Alive and all?”

            “Yes,” Castiel responds, conflicted. He wants to rub in Garth and Sam’s faces that Dean is his mate, but he’s not comfortable bragging about his mate when the man isn’t well within his sight. “I told you that already.”

            “Yeah but – I don’t know, guess you could be luring us away so you can kill us, gotta be careful.” Garth looks down, a faint blush on his cheeks even as he makes the accusation, and Castiel shoots him an unimpressed look.

            “If I wanted to kill you, I wouldn’t need to lure you away,” he assures, “and if you were looking to be careful, you shouldn’t be here.”

            “Well, yeah, that’s true, but people’ll do stupid stuff for family,” Garth says, laughing and shrugging his shoulders.

            “And you?” Castiel asks, “why are you doing this?” He’s fishing, but he has the feeling Garth takes it for honest, innocent curiosity, his hands waving in the air as he starts to answer Castiel.

            “This is my boat,” Garth says, pride giving a lilt to his voice, even though Castiel can see nothing to be prideful in this decaying hunk of wood. It’s so close to sinking it’s remarkable that Garth would even _admit_ to it being his. “Not too many people have ‘em anymore, though I’m guessing you already knew that. And fewer still are willing to take ‘em out onto the open water like this. But, where she goes, I go.”

            “Surely you must be getting something out of this,” Castiel probes, “why risk coming out here? Dean isn’t your brother.” He’s getting antsy, now, gripping the fish tighter in his displeasure – Garth hadn’t answered him, at least, not in the way he wanted. He still didn’t know how Dean and he were related, whether he should view Garth as a threat to his still new mating. What if Sam had promised Dean to Garth in exchange for his boat? What if Garth was only doing this to obtain Dean? Dean certainly wouldn’t like if Castiel bought them both to their nest only to kill them there in a fit of possessive rage. And he couldn’t leave them alive, either, not if they both intended to try and take his mate away from him.

            “Naw, it’s not like that. I’m just doing this to make Sam and Dean happy, lord knows they need it. And it’s not like they ask for help all that much.”

            “Dean is happy,” Castiel refutes, shaking his head and starting to swim away. Garth shouts after him, catching his attention but failing to make Castiel stop and swim back.

            He doesn’t understand. Dean _is_ happy – Castiel has made sure of it, has dedicated himself to ensuring that his mate is well cared for, and while they may have their occasional problems that certainly didn’t mean his mate was anything other than happy with him. He can’t even find it in himself to be relieved by Garth’s apparent lack of interest in Dean, not when he feels so insulted by the accusations he’d spewed forth.

            He glances over his shoulder a few times – unnecessarily, ultimately, because he can hear the boat clearly and he knows it’s constantly trailing behind him. There’s no risk of losing them, not with how loud and obnoxious the poorly kept thing was. But he likes to look back and watch the two humans – Sam has hardly taken a break from glaring at him, and Garth looks apologetic, chewing his bottom lip and throwing a hand up in a small wave every time he catches Castiel looking back towards him. It almost makes Castiel swim back towards them, but he wants to reach the cave before sundown and he has the feeling going back to talk to Garth will only prove to hurt that goal.

            It’s substantially worse once they _do_ reach the island, once it’s well within their sights. Then he has to deal with the fact that he can practically smell his mate, but the slow movements of the boat keep him from being able to actually reach him as quickly as he wanted to. He finally caves in, swimming back towards the boat and latching onto the side so he can tug himself up.

            “You can figure it out from here, yes?” Castiel hints, “I’m going to go ahead-“

            “No!” Sam shouts, voice cracking from lack of water and use, the first time Castiel has heard him speak since their voyage began. “No, stay here, within sight.”

            Castiel looks at him, unimpressed, quirking a brow. He’d gotten used to the amicable silence, he’d forgotten how Sam seemed to think that he was in charge here. It looked like it was time to show him just how wrong that idea was.

            Without another word, Castiel plops off the side of the boat, disappearing under the waves and refusing to come back up while he made his way toward the island, no longer concerned with staying within sight of the boat. He can hear Sam shouting after him, though he ignores it, instead focused on the smoke billowing up into the sky from the other side of the island – Dean had started a fire, then, and Castiel has to wonder how long his poor mate has been tending to it. Castiel was never gone this long, and Dean had gotten pretty good at figuring out when was a good time to start the fire so they didn’t have to use up so much wood. And because Castiel had made it very clear that he really didn’t like Dean so close to something so dangerous when he wasn’t around – though Dean had thrown a minor fit, insisting that he was an adult and knew how to handle a small fire, Castiel knew his mate had taken the words to heart, as Dean didn’t head outside as soon as Castiel left to start gathering supplies anymore.

            He doesn’t surface again until the water is too shallow to stay hidden, and he doesn’t bother to keep quiet about it. Dean is standing, pacing around the sandbank – there are footprint trails all around the fire and the shoreline, and Castiel feels another pang of guilt at making his mate worry for so long.

            “Cas!” Dean shouts with relief, heading towards him and falling to his knees in the sand. Castiel crawls forward as Dean reaches out and wraps his arms around him, dragging their bodies closer together. “Shit, man, where the hell have you been? I was worried!”

            “I’m sorry, Dean,” Castiel soothes, one hand coming up to cup the back of his mates head. He presses a soft kiss into the skin his face is pressed against, smiling when Dean’s hold tightens in response. “There were unexpected visitors.” He pulls Dean towards the cave, despite his mate’s protests about the fire – it’s starting to die, anyway, and he’s not particularly worried about anything happening on a day with so little wind. Besides, he wants Dean somewhere safe, wants to show off to his family how well-cared for he was, and he can’t do that out in the open. Dean’s still talking even as Cas drags him inside, holding his mate to his chest while he pulls them both up onto the ledge.

            “More seraphs?” Dean asks, pulling back to look Castiel in the eye, worry clouding the green and making tiny crinkles appear between his eyebrows. Castiel shakes his head and runs a tentacle over Dean’s cheek, suckers clinging to the skin as Dean pushes his face into the hold.

            “No, humans.”

                        Dean glances over at the entrance of the cave, squinting past the glare cast by the ocean.

            “….what happened to ‘em, Cas?” His voice is low, and Castiel frowns at the insinuation clear there.

            “They’re fine, Dean,” he replies, rolling his eyes and squirming closer, pushing his head into Dean’s neck and breathing in deeply, “they’re on their way here now, actually.”

            “ _What_?” Dean chokes out, “Cas, the hell? You just invited a bunch of strangers here, did you even think about this?”

            “Dean-”

            “ _Shit_ , I know I said play nice but I just meant don’t _kill_ them, not invite them over – people are _crazy_ , Cas, you have no idea what they’re planning, how many they might be bringing back here-“

            “ _Dean_ -“

            “Cas, they can’t come here, did you already tell them where we are?”

            “Hello? Dean? You here?” Castiel growls and tightens his hold as Dean recognition makes him stiffen, body snapping to attention.

            “Holy shit,” his mate mumbles, “Cas, is that?”

            Castiel nods, face still pressed tight against Dean’s neck, lips dragging across his skin as he mumbles out his agreement. His mate scrambles to get up, hampered by Castiel’s tight grip on him, just as Sam comes trampling through the water and into the entrance of the cave, one hand cupped over his eyes and the other holding a gun. Garth is trailing behind him, holding a gun himself, though with the way his hand is waving Castiel doubts he could actually shoot anything other than his foot.

            “Sammy!” Dean yells, finally managing to disentangle from Cas enough where he can get up and cross the remaining distance. Sam’s face breaks out into a smile and he lowers his gun in time to wrap an arm around Dean, making Castiel snarl softly. He scoots forward and wraps a tentacle around Dean’s ankles, subtly reasserting his climb.

            He gives the brothers a few moments to reacquaint themselves before gently tugging Dean away, humming when his mate willingly leaves and smiles down at him.

            “Nice beard,” Sam comments, smiling wider when Dean rolls his eyes and pushes at his brothers shoulder.

            “Shut up, bitch.”

            “Make me, jerk.”

            Castiel snarls louder, shoving his way between his mate and his brother. Is that a threat? Did he reunite his mate with his family just for the man to turn around and _threaten_ him? He snaps a tentacle through the air, the crack loud and echoing through the cave, smirking when Sam and Garth flinch.

            “Hey, Cas,” Dean soothes, bending down and running a hand through Castiel’s hair, “’s cool, man, we’re just playing around.”

            “Dean,” Sam says, lowly, “come over here-“

            “ _No_ ,” Cas growls, wrapping Dean up in his grip and tugging him off balance. Dean falls to his knees, easily manhandled into Castiel’s grip. He glares up at Sam, puffing up his tentacles and showing his full size and colors, challenge clear in his stance.

            All Sam is is a human with a gun. He’s no match for any seraph, especially not one whose mate is being threatened. Castiel could break his legs and arms before he had a chance to fire the stupid gun.

            It takes him a minute to realize Dean is calling his name, repeatedly, trying to catch his attention. He looks over his shoulder at the little of his mate still visible, reluctant to take his eyes off the perceived threat.

            “Cas, seriously, it’s okay, he’s my brother, he just wants to talk, that’s all this is, no need to freak out, man-“

            “He insulted you.”

            “We were joking, that’s sort of what brothers do, man.”

            Castiel doesn’t fully believe him, but Dean is running a hand along one of his tentacles and he lets himself be lulled, letting most of his tentacles fall away so Dean is at least visible.

            Sam lowers himself to his knees, gently putting the gun on the floor without taking his eyes off of Castiel. He knows it’s supposed to be a sign of good will, but considering the gun didn’t pose a threat to him before it doesn’t do much. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Garth mirroring Sam’s actions, though if there was one person he was less concerned about it was Garth.

            “Is that a fucking dead fish rubbing against my foot?” Dean groans, disgust scrunching up his face as he tries to wiggle away from the gaping fish. Castiel moves it away quickly, nearly snapping it in half in his distaste – he would have to clean over that area thoroughly, rescent it, he didn’t want the scent of fish covering his own.

            Dean doesn’t seem too bothered by the filth that Castiel had shamefully let get near him, though, eyes still trained on his brother, and Castiel swells with pride. As much as he didn’t like Sam – and he didn’t, the man had insulted Dean, whether Dean chose to see that or not – Dean was clearly happy with the visit, and Castiel knew that would bode well for their future relationship. He’d done something good, something to make up for the many failures he had done during their initial courtship.

            “So,” Sam says, awkwardly, running a hand through his hair and dragging it away from his face, “you’re alive. That’s – wow.”

            “No kidding,” Dean laughs, and Sam joins in after a beat of hesitation. Castiel has no idea what they find so funny, but hearing his mate so relaxed and carefree is refreshing, and he loosens his hold and lets Dean become more comfortable.

            Of course, now he’s left with a problem. He only got enough food to feed the two of them – and he knows Dean is hungry, he hasn’t eaten yet and even if his mate never complained Castiel had gotten good at knowing what small movements were responses to a growling stomach. But, with two new humans here – Dean certainly wouldn’t eat unless Sam ate, as well, and Castiel doubted he’d let Castiel give his entire share to him. No, Dean would want everyone to eat, and everyone to eat enough, and he wouldn’t eat his own share unless that happened.

            Which meant Castiel would have to go and get more food – which meant leaving Dean alone, or, well, not alone – with two humans.

            But, he reminded himself, they were family. Family could be trusted. Well, perhaps not his family, he wouldn’t ever leave Dean alone with another seraph- but Dean seemed quite relaxed with his brother, and he’d been quite loyal to him when talking about him before, so leaving them alone would probably be harmless. Dean would probably like it, actually, he’d like the catch up time and he would appreciate Castiel being concerned and proactive enough to go out and get more food without Dean having to threaten to starve himself.

            He nodded to himself, catching Sam glaring at him in confusion before he gripped at Dean’s shoulder, grabbing his attention.

            “I need to get more food,” Castiel says, glancing down at the few fish he was still holding (though at a safe distance from Dean), “will you be okay here?” He looks towards Sam, briefly, before letting his eyes flick back towards Dean. If Dean didn’t want to be left alone, for whatever reason, or if he didn’t want Sam and Garth to stay long enough to eat, certainly he would tell Castiel.

            But, as expected, Dean just smiled and nodded his head, looking pleased at the suggestion. “Yeah, man, that sounds good. I’ll make sure the fire’s still going when you get back.”

            Castiel nods and tosses the fish he had caught onto the side – just in case Dean is hungry and decides to start cooking before Castiel gets back. He knows better than to think his mate will actually do that, but it doesn’t hurt to hope.

            He’s about to dive into the water when he notices Sam looking smug, lips curled up and body twitching, as if he’s waiting for Castiel to leave so he can talk to Dean privately. It angers Castiel, possessiveness making him see red, and before Dean can turn away from him and see the look of success on his brothers face Castiel tugs him forward, kissing him. He drags their lips together, one hand curling in Dean’s hair while the other cups his cheek, satisfaction filling him when Dean opens his mouth and lets the kiss get deeper and wet. By the time he pulls away Dean is panting and his lips are a pleasing, puffed-up red and both Sam and Garth look startled and uncomfortable, eyes wide and bodies leaning away. He smiles smugly at Sam before diving into the water, satisfied that his claim was now clear.

* * *

 

It takes Dean a minute to get over the daze kissing Castiel had caused. He’d meant to pull away, really, that had been the first thought on his mind – this wasn’t how he wanted Sam to find out about things, hell, he wasn’t sure _how_ he was going to tell his brother but it sure as hell wasn’t going to be by making him watch as Cas shoved his tongue into his mouth. But…then Cas had started kissing him, and it seemed like despite being together such a short time (and being open to kissing an even shorter time) the seraph had figured out exactly what to do to make Dean’s brain short circuit and prevent so much as the thought of moving away. Which was all fine and good, except then Cas had gone and left, and now Dean had to deal with this awkward situation by himself. Cas was a dick.

            “So,” Dean said, scrubbing his hand around the back of his neck and cursing internally when he remembers the many sucker bruisers littering his skin – and while he knows they’re just from Cas’ constantly tight grip, Sam didn’t, and after that little public display he can only imagine where his little brothers mind is going. And there’s no not-awkward way to tell your little brother that you haven’t actually had sex with the tentacle monster – not yet, anyway, though Cas is persistent and Dean knows eventually he’s going to wind up saying yes to his advances. He’s not entirely sure why he hasn’t yet – Cas stroking his dick hadn’t felt bad, and he knew Cas would make sure things were good for both of them, but something about tentacles getting anywhere near his ass (and even though Cas hadn’t explicitly said that was how things would go, with the amount of times he’d dragged a tentacle over Dean’s ass he really didn’t need to).

            Sam just blinks at him, and Garth makes a confused mumble that Dean can’t quite make out. Right. Well, that didn’t many things any less awkward.

            After a few moments of silence, with Dean slowly realizing that he’s half naked and he should really find a shirt to put on, although that’d probably only piss Cas off, and he doubts he’d get to keep it once he got back from hunting. He was surprised he managed to talk his way into wearing pants – anything else was undoubtedly not going to go down, seeing as how Cas had this weird thing about seeing him naked and covering him up himself.

            He doesn’t get a chance to get up and find clothes, though, instead jerking to attention as Sam softly shakes his head and grabs the gun he’d set down, slipping it back out of sight and going to stand up. Dean follows suit, pushing his palm against the ground, cursing the fact that despite carrying around Cas’ heavy bulk for the past few days, he’s been feeling weaker than ever.

            “We need to leave,” Sam says, bluntly. Dean tenses, repeating the words a few times in his head just to make sure he heard right, and by the time he deems that he has he realizes his brother is still talking, “right now, Dean, come on – hurry up. If we get out of here fast enough and take a different route, we should be able to get back to the mainland before Cas has a chance to catch up to us.”

            “What?” Dean says, dumbly, staring at Sam like he’s just realized his brother his grown another head. _Leave_? Why would he leave? He knew Sam would be less than enthusiastic about Cas, but surely he had to see that Cas wasn’t exactly dangerous? “No, Sam, I’m not going anywhere. Cas – he’s not _bad_ , man, not like the rest of them.”

            “He kidnapped you, Dean,” Sam throws his hands up, stepping closer to Dean, and Dean takes a step back, almost cursing when he realizes he’s too close to the bed and he can’t move back any further.

            “Well, yeah, but he meant well. Didn’t really know what he was doing – or, well , he did, but he didn’t see it as kidnapping. And it all ended up okay, you found me, I’m all good – everything is good, Sam.”

            “Everything is not good, Dean!” Sam is nearly screaming, and Garth steps closer, raising his palms up to placate both of the brothers as he tries to shush them. “Don’t you get it? This is just Stockholm syndrome! Whatever he told you, man, whatever you feel – it isn’t real! We need to leave, now!”

            “I’m not leaving!” Dean screams back, “I’m _happy_ here, Sammy, can’t you see that and just leave it be?”

            “Guys,” Garth says, “Stop screaming at each other, just talk this out like brothers – maybe this isn’t the best idea, Sam, even with the route you wanna take – I told you, we’re not likely gonna be able to outrun a seraph, not if he really decides to come after us. You saw how fast Castiel was, and I don’t think he was even trying that time.”

            “So what, we give up? We don’t even try?” Sam is still yelling, hands fanning the air impatiently as he turns to stare Garth down, body straightening up to his full sight, “why the hell did you come along, then? You didn’t think we’d find him, is that it?”

            “That’s not it, man, calm down – take a deep breath, and just-“

            Sam just scoffs, shaking his head with disgust as he steps towards Dean, hands reaching out to grab him. Dean tenses up, already figuring whether or not he’d want to risk tumbling down in his effort to stay out of his brother’s grasp – if he fell back he probably wouldn’t have any lasting damage, but it also wouldn’t be much of a problem for Sam, either. And falling to the side was going to get him into the water – which, again, wasn’t much of a problem, unless he missed and wound up slamming his head into the ground and dying. Which, really, he wasn’t too keen on happening.

            “Come on, Dean, we’re leaving. You’ll thank me for this later.”

            “No, I won’t!” Dean jerks, practically throwing his body against the wall of the cave and jutting his shoulder out to dislodge Sam’s hands, “Cas’ll be back soon-“

            “Which is why we have to leave, now!”

            “Which is why I’m not going! I’m not leaving him, Sam, I can’t-“

            “Oh for God – you know what, fine,” Sam rolls his eyes, and Dean relaxes.

            Fine. Good. Sam might be pissed at him, but at least he’d won- although Sam looked pretty pissed, and he couldn’t imagine Cas would be pleased if he can back with food and Sam had already left in a huffy fit. And he really didn’t’ want to think about his brother going back out in the water without Cas to keep an eye on him – he’d gotten lucky, before, but his actions were still stupid and –

            Dean blinked, eyes closing just as Sam twisted around and slammed the butt of his gun into the back of Dean’s head.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are going to wrap up very quickly now! These last two chapters are much shorter than any of the other ones I've posted, but I hope you enjoy them all the same.

It takes Castiel longer than he would have liked to gather a suitable amount of fish. While he was picky under normal circumstances, now he was downright obsessive. He needed to prove to both Sam and Garth that their concerns over Dean were unfounded, that he was capable of taking care of him and that Dean was _happy_. The cave was a good start, a nice demonstration of how Castiel was able to provide a stable home for him, and finding the largest and tastiest fish would just be further proof that Castiel was more than worthy of being Dean’s mate.

            He ends up with more than he needs, partially out of concern for Dean and partially because he’s uncertain as to how much the other humans will eat. Sam is large – certainly he must eat more than Dean, and it’s possible they’ll eat more still just to spite Castiel and try to prove that he couldn’t hunt enough. By the time he’s swimming back he’s antsy, the need to see his mate giving his strokes a desperate jerk. He hadn’t meant to stay out so long – hopefully Dean wouldn’t be mad at him.

            When the island first comes into sight, he feels his heart rise into his chest. There’s no smoke, not even the smallest hint of a fire having been restarted – the embers from the last one he had torn Dean away from have long ago finished burning, and there wasn’t even any wood stacked up to feed a new one. That was unlike Dean – he was always so keen to prove himself capable of the jobs he’d stolen away from Castiel.

            He pushes the thought to the side – his mate had probably just gotten caught up with his brother, and had forgotten to start the fire. That was fine – it gave Castiel the chance to do it, which meant another chance to prove himself. In fact, Dean not starting the fire was probably a good thing, in the long run. It doesn’t make the queasiness settle any, and his heart is still beating a little faster than normal, and he finds himself increasing his pace, needing to see and touch and smell his mate.

            His concern over the fire only increases when he gets closer to the island – when he had left, Sam’s boat had been docked fairly close by the cave. Castiel had practically swam under it when he’d left – certainly they wouldn’t have moved it, that wouldn’t make any sense. Which meant, what? Sam and Garth had left already? That would be a short visit, though Castiel couldn’t really complain – he wanted his mate alone, of course, and he hadn’t really been looking forward to spending the night amusing them and then having to bring them back to the shore.

            But Dean certainly wouldn’t be happy – he’d missed his brother, and having him stay for such a short time would surely put a damper on his poor mate’s mood. Not to mention, if Sam had left already (and had left a while ago, considering Castiel hadn’t passed by the boat or heard it leaving) why hadn’t Dean started a fire?

            He’s still trying to fight back the rising sense of fear clawing its way out of him – Dean was probably just angry that Sam had left, and he’d forgotten. A simple explanation, but sometimes the simplest answers were the right ones, and Castiel clung desperately to the hope that this was just such a time.

            That hope fled him the second he entered the barren cave, void of all things Dean and quieter than he ever remembered it being. The fish are still on the side, cold and lifeless, and Castiel quickly releases the others into the pool as he climbs onto the bed, as if his mate had just managed to hide himself out of sight – impossible, of course, as he’s reminded when he comes up empty.

            “Dean?” He calls, wincing when his cry echoed and broke the quiet – he couldn’t even hear his mate, surely if Dean was around he’d be able to hear _something_. Footsteps coming back towards the cave, or an answering call, or at least smell him more than he could now, when it felt like every second more and more of Dean was escaping out into the outside world, and there was no Dean back here to replace what was being lost. “Dean, this isn’t funny – I’m sorry Sam left, please come out,” he pleads, crawling onto the floor and back towards the main entrance of the cave, desperately looking for some sign of his mate.

            When he finds it, he realizes with a cold sense of dread that he hadn’t wanted it at all. There’s blood on the ground, tiny droplets of red that contrast sharply against the cold grey stone – some in perfect shape and others smeared, as if something had been dragged through them. It’s more blood than should ever be in their nest, and Castiel knows without a doubt that this is Dean’s life spread along the floor, that whatever had happened – Dean hadn’t left their nest willingly.

            Sam had taken him. Sam had _hurt_ him – his mate was in danger, all because Castiel hadn’t thought hard enough about leaving him with his family. This was the exact thing he knew not to do, the lesson Lucifer had taught to all of their kind – as strong as seraph’s were, nothing was more dangerous to a human than their own kind.

            He’s propelling himself through the ocean before he can think twice, focused completely on listening for the harsh sounds of the boat. Sam might think himself clever, but he won’t be able to outrun a seraph – and there’s no way Castiel is letting them get away with Dean, not after he swore to protect the man. He’ll see that they pay dearly for their actions.

* * *

 

It doesn’t take him as long as he feared to track the loud, floating hunk of trash down – but it’s still longer than he would have liked, his every thought plagued with memories of the blood that he’d found. Had they treated Dean for the damage they’d caused? Was his mate still bleeding, dying, and his brother didn’t care? Were they planning on returning him the same way Lucifer’s mate had been brought back – cold, lifeless, _destroyed_?

            No. He hadn’t fought off Uriel just to lose Dean to some humans – he was born to protect him, and he would not fail in that job, not any more than he already had. The familiar thrum of the engine is music to his ears, the fact that he’d caught up to it long before it reached shore even more so.

            When he rears his head out of the water he realizes it had long ago fallen dark – the light he’d been following was that of the moon, not the sun. It gives him a cloak, though, and he knows that other than his skin he was easily hidden in the darkness of the night coupled with that of the waves. He would have the upper hand in more ways than one tonight.

            His suckers leave him feeling conflicted – they’re the only way he has to get up onto the top of the boat, which he is immensely thankful for, but they make loud plopping noises every time he moves up, loud enough where he’s not confident the crashing waves and boat will cover his tracks. He pauses every few seconds, curious to see if anyone was going to come and look over the side, and smiling when no one ever does. He’s not yet sure what his plan is, too focused on the close proximity of his mate.

            He wants to tear Sam and Garth apart, make them suffer for the damage they’d done to Dean already and the future damage they undoubtedly intended. But he also needs to get Dean out of here – and that has to take precedence, he cannot leave Dean on the deck where he could get further injured, not even for the sake of justice.

            He’s still trying to come up with a plan when he finally succeeds in pulling himself up onto the deck, landing with a soft but still audible thud, and taking a look around.

            His first thought is to find Dean, of course – but he doesn’t see Dean, at least, not initially. No, first he sees Sam, and that – that sends a wave of anger through him sharper than he’d ever felt before. The man is sleeping, leaning in a chair set up by the large wheel Castiel assumes is used to control the boat, head tilted back and jerking every time he takes a breath. It takes a great deal of restraint to stop himself from simply going over there and taking out all of his frustration – the frustration and anger of losing Dean, of still being kept away from him, of having Sam come in the first place (and, somewhere deep down, of knowing who Sam was, because things would have been so much simpler if Castiel had still thought the boy was a potential suitor, he’d already be dead and Dean would be home, safe, curled up with Castiel and there’d be no blood in their nest).

            In the end, he’s not sure if he actually manages to stop himself, or if the shock of another body in his peripheral vision chases the idea out of his head. He’s hoping it’ll be Dean, though he knows how foolish that is – if it was Dean, he’d already be over here, bending down and letting Cas wrap him up and take him to safety. Dean wouldn’t just stand there and stare at him, which is all this human is doing.

            From that, he already knows who it is before he turns to fully look at them, and before they start speaking, a soft and pleading “Castiel,” that angers him more than it calms.

            “Had the feeling you’d show up here, man,” Garth continues, whispering and glancing over at Sam every few words, body tensing when the younger Winchester huffed and spasmed for a moment before returning to his slumber.

            “Where is Dean?” Castiel says, bluntly. He’s one wrong comment away from snapping his tentacles out and tearing off a limb – to hell with waking Sam up, he doesn’t care. The only thing keeping him from doing so now is the hope that Garth will make finding his mate easier – if he can skip searching the admittedly small boat, he’ll do so gladly. The sooner he can get to Dean, the sooner he can check him over, after all.

            Garth glances over at Sam and starts chewing on his lip, making Castiel wrap a tentacle around his leg and tug. It’s not hard enough to tear – or even to knock the man down – but it is hard enough to get his attention, and it’s fueled with enough hostility where he knows Garth will understand the penalty for failing to answer him. Nothing Sam can do will compare to the hell Castiel is prepared to unleash, promise with Dean or not.

            “He’s still asleep,” Garth says, finally, “I – I’m sorry, I really didn’t think Sam’d go that far, but I mean – I didn’t think he’d have to, I guess, least not until I saw you guys together-“

            “You aren’t making any sense,” Castiel hisses out, “I want my mate, _immediately_. Bring me to him.”

            Garth nods, actions quick and jerky, before suddenly stopping and grimacing. “Sam-“

            “If you want him to live,” Castiel growls, rearing up and glaring at Garth, “you’ll stop wasting my time. Your own survival depends on your usefulness.”

            “Whoa!” Garth laughs, weakly, holding his hands out in an attempt to placate, though it does nothing to fuel the rising anger in Castiel. This is taking too long – he surely could have found Dean by now, if Garth was not so keen on wasting time. “No need for that – I’m all for you two, I’m on your side.”

            “You took my mate from me,” Castiel retorts, “you _injured_ him-“

            “Look, you’re mad – I get that, I understand, you’ve got every right to be, but Sam only did that ‘cause he thought he knew what was right. He wouldn’t have knocked ‘em out if he didn’t think it was the right thing to do –“

            “ _Garth_ -“

            “Right, right, okay, I’ll – later, I guess, come on, just – be quiet, if Sam wakes up I think he’ll throw me overboard.” Garth laughs, even as his body shivers slightly, and heads towards a small room near the back of the ship, the door squeaking open as he tugs on the handle. Castiel crawls in, eager to see his mate, nearly knocking Garth down when he spots a huddled form lying on some kind of bed, blankets covering the mound from sight.

            “Dean,” he breaths out, relieved, as the scent of his mate and the relieving sound of steady, sleepy breathing reaches him, washing over his body and lulling away some of the intense anger. He’s by Dean’s side in an instant, uncovering the man as quickly as he can and skimming his hands and tentacles over his warm body.

The first thing he sees is blood, smeared across his face and dried along the garish head wound beat into him. A pitiful cooing sound fills the air, and it takes Castiel a minute to realize that the soft distressful noise came from him. He runs a tentacle along the edge of the wound, the wetness clinging to his suckers managing to dislodge some of the caked on blood, before he forces himself to stop. It wouldn’t do to clean it off now – if the wound reopens he has no way to stop the bleeding and bandage it, save for applying pressure himself, and that was likely only to cause more pain to Dean than necessary. Besides, he might wake his mate up, and right now he wanted to get Dean out of here with as little fuss as possible – sleeping Dean would probably be the easiest to move, he wouldn’t insist on trying to walk despite his injury.

            A few more tugs has the rest of the blankets off of Dean. It takes a bit more effort to wrap Dean up enough to start tugging him off of the bed, movements careful so as not to jerk his mate awake but still hasty. The longer he spends here the more his hostility seems to be building up – even with Dean safe in his grip, the sight of his injury refills his anger, and makes him desperate for some form of vengeance.

            Garth follows along behind him as he pulls Dean out of the room and onto the main deck of the ship, shutting the door behind them. His fingers twitch every once in a while, and he starts to offer to help carry Dean out until Castiel sends him a harsh glare and tugs Dean closer, gripping him even tighter, as though Garth might bend down and try to take him anyway. Garth winces and backs off, staring up and refusing to so much as look at the bundle Castiel has securely wrapped up.

            They make it to the edge of the boat before he hears shouting and swearing behind him, and Garth lets out a pathetic “ _Sam, no_ ,” before a gun shoots off, hitting the edge of the rail. Castiel snarls loudly, tentacles darkening and puffing up as he turns around to face Sam.

            Dean’s brother is still holding his gun, aiming it straight at Castiel’s head – and if Dean wasn’t with him, Castiel would be laughing at his pure stupidity, to think that such a weapon would be able to do any damage to him. But it could hurt Dean, if Cas so much as twitched his tentacles there could be enough of an opening for someone to get a lucky shot, and such a threat cannot go unanswered.

            “Let go of my brother,” Sam says, voice calm even as his grip wavers and his body rocks.

            “You _hurt_ him,” Castiel answers, “you _hurt_ my _mate_ , and now you’re holding a gun, planning to try and _kill him_ -“

            “The gun is for you,” Sam swallows and takes half a step closer, “and I don’t know what the hell is wrong with you, but Dean is not your mate. You can’t just kidnap people - he’s not yours, and you sure as hell aren’t keeping him.”

            “He’s mine to keep!” Castiel thunders out.

            Dean tenses and starts wiggling, and Castiel forces his grip to relax, even as his tentacles continue to puff up. He runs the tips of a few against Dean’s skin, soothing circles trying to calm his mate down and get him to fall back asleep – he has this handled, if Dean would just trust him and keep calm, but of course his mate can never make things go easier.

            “Cas,” his mate slurs, “not that it ain’t good to see you, but what’s goin’ on?”

            “Nothing, Dean,” Castiel whispers, twisting his arm back so his hand can squeeze between two tentacles, fingers running against Dean’s cheek. Dean tilts his head into the touch, even as he continues to struggle for space. “Go back to sleep,” Castiel pleads.

            “Nnn, where’s Sam?”

            “You gotta tell him to let go of you, Dean, we can take him-“

            Castiel laughs and tugs Dean closer, shaking his head, “he doesn’t want to leave,” he assures Sam, “he’s wearing my courtship gift, he _chose_ me.”

            “He’s been stuck with you, it’s not love it’s survival!”

            Dean groans, stopping Castiel from responding to the ludicrous claim. “You guys seriously going to argue about this when I’m right fucking here, instead of, I don’t know – just asking me what I want?”

            “You don’t know what you want! I know you, man, I know you wouldn’t willingly stay here, you’d sooner _die_ -“

            Castiel snarls, a tentacle whipping out to wrap around Sam’s legs, pulling hard until the man loses his balance and falls over. The gun goes off, shooting a bullet into the air and Sam lets out a string of muffled curses as he drops the weapon, his hands flying out to try and ease his fall.

            “Sammy? You okay – what’d you do, Cas?” Dean’s managed to raise his hands and is pressing against the mound of tentacles wrapped around him, trying to create enough of a hole to see out of, though Castiel is reluctant to give in. A hole means Dean could get injured – and he’s not entirely happy with the irritated tone his mate has taken up, even though Castiel is _protecting_ him. He grabs the gun and tosses it into the ocean with disdain, smiling at the clinking sound it makes as it breaks the surface and the bubbling pops of it sinking.

            Without the threat, he’s far more comfortable letting Dean expose himself, and he lets a few of his tentacles fall away so Dean’s face is out in the open, his eyes blinking a few times before adjusting to the light.

            “You okay, Sam?” Dean repeats, glancing between his brother and Cas. Sam nods, wincing as he adjusts his position and removes weight from his left wrist, glaring at Castiel and shuffling back.

            Castiel smirks and sits up straighter, content that his power has been noted and accepted. Sam looks much better cowering.

            But the man still has some defiance in him, as he scowls at the tentacles still wrapped around his brother, and Castiel can’t have that. He tilts around, pulling Dean until they’re face to face and he can kiss his mate again, tongue lapping over his mates closed lips and teeth nipping, humming with pleasure as Dean kisses back, lips slotting together and pushing hard against Castiel’s.

            Dean doesn’t pull away until Sam starts screaming, a mix of anger slurs that Castiel doesn’t think are actual words and the repeated, desperate command for Castiel to get off of him and to let Dean go. That seems to be enough of a disturbance for his mate, who starts trying to pull away. Castiel holds him in a place a few moments longer, and draws him back in for a few shorter kisses each time Dean actually does manage to part them, just to make sure that his point has been sufficiently proven. He feels a lot better when they finally do part, and he can look to see the defeated look on Sam’s face, his downturned lips and knitted-together eyebrows confirming that he’s managed to take the fight out of the human.

            “He’s mine,” Castiel says, triumphantly, “he _loves_ me, and –“

            “Cas,” Dean interrupts, “maybe not the best time - or way – to do this, yeah?”

            “But-“ Castiel protests, moving to kiss Dean again, hoping to quiet Dean down so his mate will let him handle this threat to their mating bliss.

            “No, no, stop distracting me,” Dean laughs and tilts his head back as far as Castiel’s grip will allow, and Castiel bites his lower lip to stop from pouting at the denial. “Sam, just…hear me out, okay, I know how weird this seems-“

            “Weird?” Sam scoffs, wincing as he waves his hand in the air. He draws it closer before speaking again, “That doesn’t even begin to cover this – this isn’t _you_ -“

            “It’s what you wanted me to be!” Dean interrupts, and when Sam looks startled and starts shaking his head Dean plows right through, “don’t give me that look! How many times have you gotten on me about settling down, about quitting the ‘family business’ and finding something better to spend my life on, something where maybe I’ll actually be happy instead of just….dead, or waiting to die?”

            “Yeah, but this isn’t-“

            “Isn’t what you meant, yeah, okay, I get that Cas probably isn’t what you pictured when you kept talking about the whole American dream spiel – but you don’t _know_ him, Sammy. I know it’s hard to believe, hell, _I_ didn’t want to believe it, but he’s not like all those stories Bobby and dad used to tell us. I _like_ Cas, he’s a good guy and I’m pretty damn sure he’s good for me, and I really want you to just – I don’t know, be happy for me, I guess, happy that I’m _out_ and that I’m doing all this shit you used to preach about. You’re both important to me, man, at least give this a chance before you go making your decisions on him.”

            “Dean,” Sam says, warily, leaning closer and reaching a hand out to his brother, grimacing when Castiel tugs Dean further away. Dean was hardly close enough for Sam to grab anyway, but the triumph of hearing his mate defend their mating and the need to ensure that he is safe, despite all that has happened, have made his instincts go haywire and have outweighed any sense of logical reasoning. He’s coherent enough to keep from bruising Dean – he doesn’t want to leave any more marks until after he’s checked the man over and ensured that the damage Sam had done is limited to the garish head wound, and he manages to keep himself from simply throwing them both off the side of the boat and swimming back to the safety of their nest, which Sam hopefully would be unable to find again.

            “Come on, Sam,” Dean half-pleads, raising an eyebrow, “I’m your brother, man, a little trust that I know what I’m doing wouldn’t be too crazy, right? Let’s just go back, and everyone can calm down and we can actually talk about this like the adults that we are, okay? I’m sure we can work something out where everyone’ll feel better, and once you get to know Cas maybe this whole thing won’t seem quite so damned insane as I’m sure it does-“

            “He injured you,” Castiel interrupts, narrowing his eyes at his mate, “He should not be welcomed back to our-“

            “He’s my brother,” Dean cuts off, “and he’s doing what’s best, and if I say he’s allowed back he damn well is, got it?” Dean is glaring at him, now, and Castiel stiffens at the hostile look in his mate’s eyes.

            Arguing here wouldn’t be a good way to prove how good of a mate and how happy Dean was with him – but losing and letting Dean overrule him isn’t exactly appealing, either. Dean’s got the same narrowed eyes and down-turned, tight-lipped mouth expression as he had in many of their previous arguments – all the ones he had won, the clothing and the fire starting and Castiel has the distressing feeling that even if he were to argue, he’d still come out losing. And that would look even worse than if he just let Dean have his way. At least here he could pretend it was of his own will, and not because he’d already become so attached to his mate the man could practically control his every action.

            “Fine,” Castiel says, glaring at Sam heatedly, hoping that perhaps the man would sense just how unwelcomed he was and would refuse the invitation. Of course, he couldn’t have his way, as Sam nodded minutely and started to get back up onto his feet.

            “Fine. Garth, can you steer the boat around and get us heading back towards the island?”

            “Sure thing,” Garth says, mock-saluting at the group and scrabbling over to the controls. “Should have enough fuel to get us there and back, though I’m hoping this isn’t gonna be a regular thing,” he trails off, mumbling to himself as he starts correcting their position.

            “Can you stay out of the water that long?” Sam asks, and Castiel can’t help but smirk at the self-righteous tone the man has taken.

            “I don’t need to,” he responds, smugly, already dragging himself back to the edge of the boat and wrapping Dean back up in his grip. “We’ll be waiting.”

            “No!” Sam’s shout comes too late, as Castiel flings both himself and Dean off of the boat and into the churning waves, quickly swimming out far enough where the boat wouldn’t be a danger to his mate. Dean sputters when they resurface, though Castiel had slung a tentacle over his mouth and across his nose to keep him from accidentally inhaling any water, and he ensures the man’s head is well above the dangers of the churning waves before he sets off back towards their cave.

            Part of him wants to rush home and check Dean over – but doing so would leave the boat in danger, as anything could come and sink it. Once it’s closer to the island, he’d be able to hear if anything else dangerous was in the water and would pose too much of a threat, but here he’d never be able to swim out in time, even if he could hear something lurking about. Instead he coos and fusses over Dean in the water, out of sight of the boat but near enough where he’d be able to defend it if need be, his hands running along the wound and mussing up Dean’s slick hair.

Dean grumbles as he tugs at the strands and runs his grip along the edges of the wound, teeth biting down on his lip to stifle a hiss of pain. Frowning, Castiel drags him closer and shoves his face into Dean’s neck, nosing along his jawline until the man tilts his head back and allows him access.

            “He hurt you,” Castiel mumbles against the wet flesh, mouthing along the red marks he’d sucked into the skin and breathing in the scent of his mate, the only thing capable of calming him down and stopping him from swimming off and forgetting about Sam and Garth. “I never should have left you alone with him.”

            “You didn’t know,” Dean whispers, barely heard over the waves, “hell, even I didn’t think Sam’d go that far, though I guess I can’t say I’m all that surprised. Probably woulda done the same thing, situations reversed and all.”

            “You would have listened to your brother. You’re loyal and trustworthy and _kind_ – you’d never hurt your family, never,” Castiel argues, kissing Dean’s shoulder before tilting his head back down so he can press their foreheads together, filling his vision with the glorious sight of his mate.

            “Sam’s all of those things, too, you know,” He’s surprised when Dean juts his chin forward and brings their lips together, a few quick kisses shared before Castiel can wrestle his control back and move away. It’s enough where Dean’s lips are red and wet and swollen, though, enough to make him want to draw the man closer and kiss him breathless, kiss him and touch him and see if maybe this is the time Dean will accept their mating, and he can have his permanent and irrefutable claim completed. “Come on, you can understand his dislike of seraphs, can’t you?”

            “I would never hurt you.”

            “Hey,” Dean says, softly, hands pulling out of Castiel’s grip and moving up to fan his fingers across his cheeks, drawing their faces closer together, “I know that, man, but what’d I first think?”

            “But I wouldn’t,” Castiel says, dejectedly.

            “Yeah, well, instinct is hard to fight, and we’ve both got it hardwired into us a little more than most. Stop pouting and being all mad – I need you to play nice, he’s gotta like you or he’s not gonna drop the leaving thing.”

            “You aren’t leaving me,” Castiel hisses out, anger flaring through him as he fists his hand into Dean’s hair, “I won’t let that happen. You’re _mine_.”

            “Cas,” Dean says, voice strained, enough of a fearful undertone to make Castiel stop in his tracks and let his hair go, apology springing forth but drowned out as Dean starts talking again, “I think I’ve earned a little trust, man. I’m not going anywhere.”

            “Right,” Castiel agrees, nodding his head and glancing back over at the boat. It’s moved quite a bit during their discussion, and pretty soon he’ll be able to take Dean back to the cave without endangering his brother and their friend.

            Despite his soft words and assurances, Dean has done little to calm the worry Castiel feels. Dean has chosen him – he has his gift wrapped around his neck, he sleeps curled into Castiel every night and they share food and do nearly everything mated couples were supposed to do. But Sam – family was important to Dean, and clearly his brother’s acceptance of their mateship was crucial to Dean.

            The question is – just how important is it? Does the continuance hang in the balance, is that why Dean has been reluctant to pursue anything further than stolen kisses and wandering touches, because he’s afraid that Sam will not accept them? If Castiel can’t win his mate’s family over – is that it? Dean has promised him he won’t leave – but perhaps he just has too much faith in Castiel, perhaps failing isn’t an option that Dean has so much as considered.

            It leaves a sour taste in his mouth. Between the concern over his mate’s wellbeing and the worry that soon he may not even be able to call him a mate, he’s not sure how he’s going to be able to ‘play nice’ like Dean wants.

* * *

 

Dean groans and pushes his head against his folded up legs, ignoring the twinge of pain the action causes as he puts too much pressure on the still aching wound.

            Cas had bandaged it up pretty good – hell, it’d been the first thing he’d done after they got back to the cave, fussing over Dean like he’d been fucking shot. Dean had told him repeatedly that he could patch it up himself – it probably would have been easier on them both, but Cas had been resolute in his desire to be the one to ‘fix’ Dean.

It hadn’t taken long for Dean to give up and, even though he kept talking, he didn’t try and stop Cas when he started cleaning the wound and pressing the cotton bandage over it, nor did he turn away when Cas frowned and kissed his cheek when Dean winced at the pressure against the sensitive area.

            They hadn’t had much alone time between getting back to the cave and Sam and Garth storming in. He was oddly grateful for that – with the possessive streak Castiel had been sporting, Dena was honestly worried that Sam was going to come in and find a naked Dean with a seraph looming over him, marking up his skin like it was his favorite chew toy. Castiel obviously wasn’t happy at the intrusion, glaring at Sam and tugging Dean closer, and the ‘adult conversation’ Dean had hoped they would be able to have had yet to happen.

            He’d barely been able to get a word in, actually, he and Garth both sat quietly while Sam and Cas argued over what was best for Dean. It pissed him off – he was a fucking adult, and he could make these choices on his own, and _both_ of them should know better than to think that it was okay for them to make his decisions for him. But, of course, every time Dean had opened his mouth to say as much he’d been shushed – either verbally by Sam or with a tentacle draped over his mouth, and the glares he’d sent them both just managed to start another shouting match. It was getting old fast, and with the tension stiffening Castiel’s tentacles and the clenching of Sam’s jaw, he had the feeling physical violence was going to wind up starting soon.

            “Would you both just shut up?” Dean shouts, head still leaning against his legs as one hand slams against the wall, sending a dull sensation of pain shooting up his arm. Cas coos at him and pulls the arm away from the wall. “Jesus, you’d give a deaf guy a fucking headache, you know that?”

            Cas makes another soft sound and tugs Dean’s head up, holding it softly and staring at him intently, seeming unphased as Dean rolls his eyes at him, “are you alright?”

            “Oh, am I actually allowed to speak for myself now?” Dean scowls and jerks his head out of Cas’ grip. “And here I thought my input was unwanted.”

            “Of course not,” Castiel scoffs, looking insulted as he glares at Dean, “I’m trying to get your brother to see reason, so he’ll leave us alone and we can be together – like you want, Dean,” the last part is said softer, more earnestly, a whispered promise that makes Dean smile despite himself.

            “And I’m trying to get you to realize that this is psychotic, and fake, and whatever you think is happening – it’s not, he’s gonna snap and kill you one of these days, and I’m not gonna let that happen-“

            “I would never!” Castiel snaps, pulling Dean into his chest and hiding his face there, as if Sam was the one threatening Dean’s life. Dean rolls his eyes again, hands pushing against Castiel’s chest until the seraph loosens up enough for him to move away.

            “Right,” Dean says, standing up and brushing his hands against his knees before walking towards Garth, ignoring Sam’s cocky smile, Castiel’s panicked coo, and the tentacle that had half-heartedly wrapped around his ankle in a vain attempt to stop him from moving. It’s not tight enough to hinder his movements, but the weight is steady and almost enough to make Dean falter and turn back.

            But no. He has a plan to follow through, and hopefully it doesn’t backfire on him and wind up costing him everything, but if it does…well, that was that, it would be just typical, really. Further proof that Dean Winchester was not meant to have good things.

            “Where are you going?” Castiel asks, crawling after Dean, “Dean, please-“

            “He’s coming home,” Sam says, victory making him jut his chin out, “I knew you’d see reason-“

            “I’m not going with you, Sam,” Dean says, voice tired and strained, “You guys can keep arguing, I don’t care – I wanted you to get along, but I see that’s not gonna happen any time soon. Doesn’t matter. It’s my life, and _you two_ are not making life-long choices for me. So I’m doing what I want, and that’s that.”

            “What you want?” Both Sam and Cas parrot back at him, confusion giving their voices a higher pitch.

            “Yeah. Way I figure, there’s two choices here. Choice A – the one I’d been hoping for, but clearly not the one that’s gonna happen here – was me, out of the hunting life, with Cas, and with Sammy here happy for me and visiting and all that shit. But, seeing as how you two can’t exchange more than two words without shouting, and I’m _not_ picking between you, that leaves me with choice B.”

            “Which is?” Sam’s gone silent, leaving Castiel to ask, and Dean has to fight against the urge to look at the seraph, instead staring steadfast at the floor. He knows what he’ll see – Cas’ pinched face, the sadness giving his blue eyes a wet look, tentacles that are twitching to stop them from looping around Dean and pulling him down, and any one of those things would be enough to get him to stop and turn around and see if maybe they can salvage things some other way. But that won’t happen – Sam and Cas just won’t get along, not if they think they have some other choice, and it’s up to Dean to give them a reason to settle down and compromise.

            “I’m leaving,” Dean says, dully, “Gonna go with Garth back to the mainland, and when I get there I’m taking the Impala and I’m driving until she runs out of gas, and that’ll be that. If I can’t get you two to play nice, then fine – I’ll take away what you two _children_ are arguing about. Neither of you’ll see me again, I’ll find my own damn hunts and we all can go about our lives separately.”

            “Wha-“ Sam stares at Dean as Castiel surges forward, wrapping himself around Dean’s legs and nearly making him topple over.

            “ _No_ ,” Castiel screeches, “ _no_ , Dean, _please –_ I can fix this, I can get along, I can – you can’t _leave me_. That’s – that’s _my gift_ around your neck, your _mine_ , I’ve got your-“

            “Yeah, yeah, my jacket, you think I don’t remember that?” Dean shakes his head and tries to lift a leg up, planning to attempt to shake Cas off of him.

            “His what?” Sam asks, as Castiel wraps himself tighter around Dean, increasing his grip until Dean’s legs buckle and he falls into the seraph’s hold.

            “Seriously, Cas,” Dean grumbles, shimmying around as he tries to get the tight suckers off of him, “let go of me, you’re being childish-“

            “You can visit,” Cas says, turning away from Dean to peer at Sam, nodding enthusiastically, “whenever you want, I’ll guide your boat so nothing happens and you can make sure that I’m taking care of Dean, and you can stay as long as you need, but you can’t just take him. He’s my mate, I won’t lose him – I swear, he’s _safe_ here, this is the safest place for him and you know it.”

            “You’re a seraph,” Sam argues, “I don’t know what the hell you think is going on here, but you can’t just kidnap people and toy around with them like this! I’m not gonna leave my brother so that he can be some sick entertainment for you!”

            “He’s my _mate_!” Castiel screeches, and Dean resumes his struggling in return. Cas takes a breath and squeezes his eyes shut, calming himself down before continuing, “I would _never_ hurt him. I love Dean, and I’d protect him with my life. Nothing will change that.”

            Sam seems taken aback by the confession, recoiling and staring at Dean, whose blushing hard enough to make his cheeks burn and is steadfastly staring at the ground, refusing to so much as look at his brothers shocked gaze.

            “Okay,” Sam says, lowly, raising his palms up as he tries to move towards Dean and Cas, “okay, so you love him, that’s-“ Sam swallows and waves his hands around, “that’s, okay. But, that doesn’t mean he loves _you_ , Castiel. If you loved Dean, really loved him, you’d let him go so he can be happy.”

            “He won’t be happy without me,” Castiel whispers, shifting closer to Dean and staring at the hunter questioningly. Dean sighs and relaxes, finally stopping his struggles and looking up at Sam.

            “He’s right, Sammy.” Sam opens his mouth, about to cut Dean off, and Dean waves a hand to stop him. “I know, man, it sounds fucked up and crazy, and I know you think it’s not real and that I’m just going crazy. But that’s not what’s happening here. Cas and me – we work. I don’t know how, and I know it’s fucking weird as hell, but somehow we do, and I…I don’t want to give that up, not if I don’t have to.”

            “Dean,” Sam says, lowly, “look, he might be nice, I don’t know, but seriously? You can’t really believe that you –“

            “Why?” Dean snaps back, “because you say so? Because he’s not human? You don’t know him, Sam, Cas isn’t a bad guy. You really think that I’m that weak minded, that I’d just _give up_ like that?”

            “No, of course not-“

            “Then why’s it so hard to believe that I’ve actually gotten to know Cas?”

            “But, Dean-“

            “I want to stay here, Sam,” Dean says, “and if you make me leave, don’t think I’m gonna stick around like everything’s great.”

            Sam swallows, again, fingers digging into his jeans and tongue licking at his dry lips. “Okay,” he says, finally, running a hand through his hair. “Okay, if that’s what you want, okay. I’m not gonna make you leave, not if you think you’ve found something worth staying for. I trust you.”

            “Good.” Dean says.

            He turns to look at Cas, whose smiling wide and dragging Dean closer, so he can press his face against Dean’s neck. He feels breath tickle his throat, making the dry bits of dangling seaweed on the necklace brush against his skin.

            “You’re staying?” Cas confirms, mumbling the question into Dean’s skin, “with me?”

            “Yeah, Cas,” Dean agrees, “not leaving you, told you I wouldn’t.”

            Cas coos happily, kissing Dean’s skin in appreciation, until Sam coughs awkwardly.

            “If you could not….do that, around me…” Dean just smirks and tugs Cas’ head away from his neck, much to Castiel’s distress. He quiets the cooing down by nudging his chin up with his thumb and kissing him, barely able to stop smiling, his amusement growing when Sam sputters and coughs at the display.

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is it - the epilogue to the story. It's over and done with. This is the porn (and this is your warning that porn lies ahead - if tentacle sex isn't your cup of tea, this epilogue isn't for you) that I initially wanted to write, before the other 130k or so of writing got in the way.  
> I want to thank everyone who read this, left comments/kudos and messaged me on Tumblr. I got far more of a response to this story than I expected, and I am immensely grateful. I hope some of you will stick around to see the other Supernatural-themed stories I've been working on!  
> Please message me on Tumblr - I'm happy to talk about anything, and I'm always open to prompts/writing suggestions! I've got a lot of stuff in the works, including another Supernatural fanfic that's already much longer than this one.  
> So, without further ado - enjoy the final section of The Seraph. It's been a great ride.

Epilogue – 2 Months Later

            Dean groans, the cold water of the ocean lapping against his sides and cooling down his burning body.

            If he thought it was hot when he first met Cas, he was sorely mistaken. Now, in the heat of the summer, his body felt burning hot practically all of the time. Sam had brought back a slew of suntan lotion with his last visit, which Dean had taken to applying liberally, though Castiel seemed to have mixed feelings about it. While he’d been all concerned and happy to help Dean apply it when he first explained the damage the sun could do to his skin, once he realized how it covered his scent on Dean’s skin he’d gotten upset, and now every time Dean applied it he wound up having a seraph rub against him for at least an hour, until his scent was apparently deemed to be acceptable again.

            The water at least had become a bearable temperature – or the cold chill of it was just more welcome, he wasn’t sure, and over time Cas had become more convinced of Dean’s ability to not immediately drown when left alone in the water. It had taken a lot longer than Dean thought it would – though he could admit that he had had a big part in that. It was just way too amusing to watch Castiel panic whenever he dove underwater, and the desperate kisses he got afterwards just encouraged the behavior.

            Sam had taken to visiting monthly, though Dean had the feeling that wouldn’t last for much longer. Right now Sam was still in his panicked stages, still hugging Dean tight every time he saw him, like he was surprised that Cas hadn’t finally snapped and killed him. Cas still wouldn’t trust them alone, bringing back more than enough food to make sure that for however long Sam stayed, Cas wouldn’t have to stray from Dean’s side. It was annoying and childish, but at least they didn’t yell all the time. Well, other than a brief argument that had happened before Sam had left that first visit, where Sam had gotten pissed and nearly made Dean leave anyway after finding out that the only thing Dean ever got to eat was fish.

            He’d made another big deal over having ‘healthy, well-balanced’ diets, and while Dean had rolled his eyes, he was thrilled when Cas came back with sealed bags of food, and he’d devoured everything – even the stupid rabbit food Sam had insisted on sending. He’d managed to convince Cas to try a few things, but the seraph remained adamant that fish was the superior food, and considering Dean needed it to stay healthy he was reluctant to ever take any of it from him.

            One of the tentacles resting on his ankle squirms and tightens, making Dean smile. Cas so very rarely left Dean alone, which the hunter had steadily gotten used to. He’d thought the clingy behavior would get annoying after the first few weeks, but if anything he’d gotten dependent on the constant touches, and he found himself seeking Castiel out whenever he was out for too long. Cas had casually mentioned bringing him along next time he went to get Sam, and Dean knew that Cas didn’t like leaving him alone for so long, so he had the feeling the longer separations were soon to come to an end.

            Dean hums as Cas starts tugging him along, more tentacles casually wrapping around him to keep him afloat as he’s moved. He blinks his eyes open, the bright blue of the sky almost painful to look at, and throws his weight forward so he can stand. Cas doesn’t tend to let him out of the shallow ends of the water, wanting Dean to be able to stand whenever he felt the slightest bit tired, so Dean is more than surprised when he winds up having to tread water, unable to feel the gritty sand against his toes. He glances around, trying to find Cas to see what had happened, a slight feeling of dread chilling his body.

            The only thing in front of him is the edge of the cave, though, and he doggy-paddles over to the rocky surface in hopes of finding a handhold. He can swim for a while, he knows, but the heat of the sun beating against his back has taken more energy out of him than he’d like to admit, and he’s curious as to why Cas would bring him away from the beach and the cave.

The tentacles remain a steady weight around him, letting him move towards his destination, loosening only so Dean can turn around and try to seek out Cas.

            He doesn’t need to look hard – turning around is all it takes, his vision suddenly swimming with Cas, his blue eyes and tanned skin, as the seraph crowds closer and presses Dean’s back against the rocks. Dean grunts in surprise and the tentacles constrict tighter around him, Cas hands moving up to grab his hair and tug him into a messy kiss. His lower lip is captured and suckled on, distracting him enough from the pain of having his back dig into the jagged edges of the rocks, and Dean leans forward, arching away from the wall and towards Cas, determined to take control.

            There were still definitely some downsides to having a seraph boyfriend-husband-mate-whatever – Cas was way too fucking strong, and Dean had never managed to have the upper hand when it came to things like this. Sure, he could easily go and kiss Cas, and he knew he’d never be denied and Cas would be thrilled, but he was never in full command. Cas always called the shots, setting the pace and moving Dean about, and Dean just wasn’t strong enough to flip the tables and turn things his way. Most of the time it didn’t bother him, but sometimes it would be nice to at least be able to force Cas to pick things up.

            They hadn’t had sex yet, or whatever the seraph variation was – and with Cas’ absolute fascination of his cock, Dean knew there had to be some version of seraph fucking. The thing was, while Cas had previously tried to start things up at least once every few days, after Sam had left he hadn’t so much as brushed against Dean’s cock. It was unnerving – while Dean hadn’t been ready to do anything before, at least he knew Cas was _interested_. Now, it seemed like the seraph couldn’t care less, and maybe that was the reason Dean wanted things to speed up – or maybe it was just that he had a severe case of blue-balls, and since he’d decided to make things serious here, there had to be some way of fixing that. The only time he was ever able to really jerk off was when Cas left with Sam – any other time and it was just weird, there was no way to do that sort of thing without Cas asking a million questions, and if he was right and Cas didn’t want to do anything like that with him anymore, masturbating was sure to make him fucking uncomfortable.

            But Dean just couldn’t live like this. Especially not if Cas was going to kiss him like this, and if he was going to keep having that one tentacle draped across his chest so its suckers clung to his nipples, pulling and tugging at them until they were hard nubs and Dean was a panting mess.

            Sure enough, he’s panting when Cas draws away, a proud smirk lighting up the seraph’s face. He doesn’t move to do anything else, though, seemingly content to just hold Dean up and watch him steady his breathing. Dean panics when the seraph starts to draw away, tentacles still wrapped around him – obviously not trusting that Dean would be safe in water above his head. His hand reaches out of its own accord, grabbing on to a tentacle and stroking, desperately, moving to grab another when the first didn’t have the response he needed.

            “What are you doing?” Cas asks, cocking his head and shifting closer to Dean. He doesn’t pull his tentacles away, too focused on staring as Dean’s hands move along them. Which, okay, that’s great, but that’s not the strong response Dean wants.

            “Come on,” he grunts, fingers sliding against one of the smaller, less easily seen tentacles, “one of these has to be your dick.”

            “My dick?” Cas parrots back, voice level even as his eyes widen and a tentacle he’d apparently ignored jerked and started nudging against his hand for attention. “Dean, what are you-“

            “Come _on_ , Cas,” he says, “You can’t just leave me like this, you’re fucking _killing me_.”    

            Cas pushes him back against the wall, tentacles wrenching free from his grip, and Dean whimpers at the loss. They move to start roving over his body, touch gentle but no less determined.

            “Have I hurt you?” Cas asks, “I don’t – what’s wrong, Dean, what did I do?”

            “Not bein’ literal, man,” Dean groans, “though at this rate my dick might fall off from neglect.”

            “I don’t understand,” Castiel says, sounding frustrated. He draws away from Dean, far enough so he can look the hunter in the eye, his expression demanding an explanation.

            Dean groans, again, head tilting to expose his neck as his eyes roll back, an act of frustration or need, Dean’s not really sure. Cas is still staring at him, eyes tracing over his body, while Dean tries to pull a hand free so he can figure out a way to get things started again. He’s come too far, now, and he’s either getting what he wants or finding out once and for all that Cas just plain isn’t interested in things like that, despite his earlier apparent interest.

            The tentacles binding one of his hands abruptly falls away, though it takes a minute for Dean to realize that he can actually _move_ now. Instead, he opens his eyes, working at focusing them to see what had Cas tentatively drawing away from him.

            He can’t help but shift his hips when he notices Cas is staring at the tip of his cock, half-hard and flushed, the water blurring the sight of it but by no means hiding it. He watches as a tentacle slowly reaches out to stroke the hard flesh, the small limb coiling around it gently, as though afraid it might break. Dean moans at the contact, shifting his hips to press further into the hold, and Cas gasps, startled.

            “Dean-“ Cas whimpers, eyes flashing with worry even as he presses closer to the human.

            “Come on, Cas,” Dean pleads, “you were all interested before. Less you changed your mind?”

            “No!” Cas voice sends a wave of heat and pleasure straight to Dean’s gut, the confirmation all he needs, and _yeah_ , Dean’s hard and desperate, now. “But, you didn’t want-“

            “That was then,” Dean cuts off, not willing to hear any explanations, not _now_ of all times, “this is now, and I’m not sure how much clearer I can be, here, man.”

            “You want this?” Cas clarifies, his tentacles tightening around Dean, suckers clinging to him almost painfully, and if Dean wasn’t so needy right now he’d probably laugh at the desperate restraint that had Cas all tense, “You want me to mate you?”

            “ _Yes_ ,” Dean practically yells, “come _on_ , Cas, seriously? I want this, I want you!”

            That seems to be all the assurance Cas needs, as one second he’s visibly holding himself back and the next Dean finds himself slammed back against the rocks, his hiss of pain cut off when Cas’ lips shove against his, the kiss all biting and verging on the edge of brutal.

            As desperate as Dean had been feeling over the past few weeks, it’s nothing compared to Cas. No, Cas is hurried and intense, tugging at Dean’s lower lip as his hands trail over heated skin, fingers digging and twisting into the flesh possessively, like if he let up for one moment Dean would slip away from him. Which is laughable, because already Dean feels boneless and pliant, and if it wasn’t for Cas sure grip holding him up and pressing against him, he knows he’d be drowning.

            He takes a grateful breath of air when Cas finally pulls away, lips moving to trail a heated path down Dean’s jaw and neck, biting and sucking along the way until Dean’s skin aches, the hot press of tongue and the cool lapping of water not enough to ease the burning flashes of pain. His free hand reaches out, and as if Cas has suddenly become aware of its availability, Dean finds his fingers wrapped around a tentacle, the suckers on it much gentler as they cling to his skin then the ones currently gripping onto the rest of his body.

            “Cas,” Dean moans, brokenly, body arching as much as Cas’ tight grip will allow. Cas fucking _growls_ in response, and that’s not something Dean ever thought would make him jolt in pleasure but apparently his dick has got different ideas, throbbing at the gravely tone.

            He bobs in the water, briefly, as some of the tentacles wrapped around him start moving, coiling around his body and wrapping around his back, protecting him from the jagged edges of rock he’d been pressed against.

            “Patience, Dean,” Castiel hisses into his ear, pressing a kiss against the lobe and making Dean shutter, “I will not let your haste cause you any pain.”

            “Not gonna break,” Dean gasps out, wincing when Cas stiffens at the obvious lie. Even now he runs the easy risk of death – all it would take is Cas tightening his grip a little too much. Hell, if he so much as let Dean go he’d be a dead man – there was no way he had it in him to swim back to shore, despite how small he knew the distance was. “I trust you,” he says, instead, coloring a little at the cheesy line.

            Cas groans and somehow manages to press closer, hands dragging over every piece of skin possible. There were no clothes separating them – Cas didn’t wear his jacket in the water, too afraid of ruining it, and Dean saw no reason to get his clothes all soaked if it could be avoided. He was oddly grateful, the lack of clothes meaning they could skip a step and it kept Dean from losing his boxers, which were already growing smaller by the second. As… _careful_ as Cas was with him, he was beyond reckless with his clothes, and more than a few had been torn off in Castiel’s haste to get them off at night. Pretty soon Dean was going to get worn down and just start wearing shit when he knew Sam was coming – but like hell was he going to let Cas know he’d won that stupid fight of his so easily and so quickly.

            A tentacle slips down his back, trailing along his spin until suckers are pressing against his ass, wedging against the skin there and making Dean squirm.

            “ _Fuck_ ,” he grunts, twisting in Cas’ tight grip. He hadn’t really thought about this, not enough, hadn’t thought about what _fucking_ would actually entail. It was stupid of him, of course, to have forgotten that Cas probably didn’t have anywhere for Dean to stick his dick, and that meant Dean was definitely going to be the girl in their situation, and considering he lacked the proper equipment for that…

            Yeah. It was hard to deny what was happening when there was a slick tentacle (and just what it was slick with, Dean really didn’t want to know, he was just grateful for how it eased the pain) prodding at his hole, suckers getting caught on the rim and dragging along it, trying to open Dean up so more than the small tip could slide inside.

            “Alright?” Castiel grunts out, and it takes Dean more than he’d like to admit to realize that it was a question. He nods in response, tongue too heavy to say anything, but it appears to be enough for Cas, who keeps pressing against Dean’s hole. The first sucker makes it into him, catching inside and sending a brief wave of pain through him.

            It’s big. Too big, there’s just no fucking way that thing is going to fit inside of him. Cas is gonna rip him apart, but Dean can’t get the words out, can’t open his mouth more than to let out a silent gasp, and Cas doesn’t seem to _get_ that human bodies just aren’t that big, just aren’t meant to fit a giant-ass tentacle inside of them.

            “Dean,” Cas moans, “you’re – so _warm_ , this, it feels-“

            “Yeah,” Dean chokes out, swallowing and rolling his eyes back as he tries to adjust. Cas pushes in a little more, and the tip of his tentacle starts flicking around, pressing up against him and dragging along until it hits up on a spot that makes Dean’s vision black out for a moment, stars dancing around his eyelids. He’s no idea when he closed his eyes, can’t think past the fact that whatever that was, whatever Cas had just done, it had felt _good_ and it had eased the pain building inside of him. He squirms, trying to press down further to get the same reaction, and Cas moans as he inadvertently tightens around him, a sucker clinging and pulling at his rim as a tentacle hits against his the left side of his ass, hard enough for Dean to yelp.

            “I’ve got you,” Cas murmurs, “whatever you want, just ask, I’ll take care of you-“

            “Do that again,” Dean gasps out, “that – that thing, with your tentacle, whatever it was just _do it again_.”

            Cas stares at him helplessly, lust-blown eyes and flushed cheeks, and Dean scowls when he doesn’t do anything. He pushes down again, clenching down around Cas and smirking when the seraph moans and growls, tentacles tightening around Dean and preventing him from moving any more. The tentacle in him moves, withdrawing, and Dean cries in disapproval, a litany of nonsensical words falling from his lips as he tries to get Cas to stop.

            As painful as it had been, without Cas there now he feels _empty_ , painfully so, his body clenching around _nothing_ and he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do to make it feel better. The tip of his tentacle toys with Dean’s rim, running along the sore and puffy circle before twirling its way back inside, not far enough to satisfy Dean but at least enough where he knows Cas isn’t ending this early.

            “ _Dean_ ,” Cas growls out, one hand reaching up to grab his face, tilting his head back down so they’re staring each other in the eye. Dean startles at the heated look he gets, pupils dilating in response. “I have been waiting for this since I first found you.”

            Dean frowns, a little taken aback – now really isn’t the time for Cas’ creepy talk, for reminding Dean of how weird those first few days had been, but okay. He’s not really sure where Cas is going with this, so instead of responding he tries to press down again, tries to force Cas back into him. As painful as it was, as stretched and uncomfortable, feeling the tip press up inside of him had been addictive, and Dean wants _more_ of it.

            “ _Dean_ ,” Cas growls out again, “ _stop it_.”

            “Stop what?” Dean asks, innocently, smirking as he rolls his hips. “Thought you were gonna fuck me, Cas, what’s the hold up?”

            A low rumble makes Cas shake, their close proximity allowing Dean to feel the shuttering growl. “This is important,” Cas runs a hand through his hair, tilting his head back again so he can mouth at his throat and suck a dark mark into the skin there, “I fully intend to take my time, to make this good for you. By the time I’m done, my claim will be written into every inch of you, inside and out. You will be _mine_ , completely and utterly.”

            “You trying to scare me outta this?” It takes more effort than Dean would like to admit to get the words out, mind too distracted by the feeling of suckers pulling at his ass, pinching the skin there as they keep changing their grip.

            “No!” Cas jerks, teeth biting a little too hard, and Dean bites his lip to stop from hissing in pain. He knows any sign of true pain will be enough to get Cas to panic and stop. “No, that’s not what I’m trying to do at all. I merely want you to know, to understand – I’ve seen your kind on the beach, Dean, seen how quickly you mate and leave. This is not the same. That’s not how my kind mates, and that’s not how I’m mating with you.”

            “Cas,” Dean pants, “seriously? Peeping Tom, much?”

            “I don’t know what that means,” Cas says, perplexed, “but I am serious. Our matings tend to last for hours.”

            Dean stiffens at that, eyes widening as he feels a wave of cold sweat break out over his skin. “Cas,” he says, lowly, “not that I’m not into this, but there’s no fucking way I can keep anything up for _hours_. Not gonna happen, we’re not built for that kind of-“

            “I know,” Cas says, smugly, “Don’t worry, Dean, we’ll work up to it. I have no intention of stretching things out for _quite_ that long, not this first time. But I would still appreciate if you’d stop trying to rush things.”

            Dean laughs, a mixture of nervousness and genuine humor, head hitting back against the rocks. He starts wiggling around again, ignoring Cas as he tries to get attention back on sex.

            “What’s the matter?” He murmurs, “thought you guys were built for endurance? A couple’a little squeezes and you’re already on the brink?”

            Cas stares pointedly down at Dean’s own cock, leaking precome and flushed, hard to the point where even Dean can’t deny that he’s close to coming, probably closer than Cas is, and he hasn’t even had anything touch him yet. His foot slips out of Cas grip, a tentacle wrapped loosely around his leg while his foot twitches, his ankle pressing against Cas’ back.

            “I’ve been on edge for _months_ ,” Cas growls out, and Dean’s response is punched out of him as the tentacle that had been teasing him suddenly shoved back inside of him, tip slamming against his prostate and making stars dance across his vision again.

            “ _Fuck_ ,” he screams, foot slipping off of Cas back. He feels something slimy rub against him, movement so quick he’s not even sure it’s real, but Cas lets out a monstrous sound and one of the tentacles that had been wrapped around him quickly moves away, snapping out to where Dean’s foot had bene and wrapping around something.

            When the tentacle comes back it’s wetter than before, and Dean’s pretty sure he can see something bobbing in the water from the little gaps in Cas’ tight grip. He swallows hard and looks away from the reminder of Cas’ possessiveness and hostility, but he can’t block out the angry snarls Cas is still making, nor can he ignore how tight he’s suddenly being held. Suckers cling painfully tight to his skin, the tentacle still inside of him stiffening and seeming to grow _bigger_ , making Dean moan, as Cas works at rearranging him. His growling finally stops when Dean is completely cut off, the foot that the fish had brushed up against tucked back into the tentacle cocoon Dean found himself encased in.

            It was overwhelming – everything was _Cas_ , all of his senses completely surrounded by the seraph, and he’s hardly sucked in a breath of air before Cas starts moving again, making Dean gasp.

            “ _Shouldn’t have touched you_ ,” Cas is growling under his breath, soft enough where Dean has to bite his lip to keep his breath from blocking out the words. Even then, his heart is pounding hard enough where he almost can’t hear, and he has to strain to catch the words. “ _Mine_.”

            “Yours, Cas,” Dean promises, his hand running down past the tip of the tentacle he’d been holding, toying with the larger suckers and gasping as they cling to him, keeping his hand in place while the tip bends around to wrap around his fingers. “’M yours, come on, fucking _prove it_.”

            The tentacle in him starts twisting, the tip rubbing against him until it presses and makes Dean _scream_ , throat hoarse and muscles seizing. He clenches down on Cas without thinking, tensing for a moment in fear that maybe that’d be enough to make the seraph stop again, but if Cas is bothered he doesn’t show it. Another tentacle shoves against Dean’s free hand, hitting him until he unclenches his fist and wraps his fingers around it, stroking the slick flesh as best he can with the suckers continually attempting to cling onto him.

            When another tentacle trails up his face, he doesn’t even respond, just tilts his head and lets it feel. It’s almost ticklish, warm and wet against his already burning face, and he bites down on his lip to keep a strangled moan from escaping him when Cas starts teasing his hole with the tip of another tentacle. There’s no way he can fit another one in him, not without breaking, and he’s about to tell Cas as much when he feels hot breath against his ear, Cas leaning forward to whisper,

            “If you’re going to keep your sounds from me, I can think of a much better way.”

            Dean barely has time to process the statement, mouth hanging open as he stares at Cas, and then the tentacle that had been trailing along his face is shoving its way into his mouth, coiling against his tongue and nearly making Dean choke.

            He sputters and gasps, swallowing against the tendril as it continues to press inside, the tip and suckers toying with his tongue. He wants to be grossed out, wants to spit the damn thing out of his mouth, but Cas is moaning loudly and the tentacle in his ass is _throbbing_ , the tip of the other one finally shoving its way in, and Dean moans and swallows around the damn thing instead.

            Cas makes another pitiful sound, low and desperate, as he shoves his face into Dean’s neck and sucks at the skin there, mouth latching on and tongue lapping away the painful scrapes his teeth leave behind.

            He’s not gonna last much longer – he can’t even imagine Cas’ kind, how the hell they manage to go for _hours_ with this kind of stimulation. His eyes squeeze shut as he sucks on Cas’ tentacle, the corners of his mouth tilting up when Cas’ tentacles stutter in their otherwise consistent thrusting.

            It’s a game, now, to see who’ll last, and while Dean knows he’s fighting a losing battle ( _hours, really, he just can’t get over that_ ) it doesn’t stop him from trying to force Cas over the edge first. He clenches down, figuring that Cas was too close now to stop just to punish Dean, and his tongue presses up against the suckers of the tentacle, stroking along the edges as they fail to cling to the wet muscle. His hands are still stroking along the two tentacles he has in his grip, though one is held too tightly to really get much movement. Cas might have endurance to his advantage, but he’s also got plenty of places for Dean to stimulate, and Dean’s not above playing dirty to get what he wants.

            Unfortunately, it appears Cas isn’t above such tactics, either, and with a snarl he pushes the other tentacle all the way inside of Dean, making the human stutter and gasp as he tries to relax his body. It hurts, too full and even with the slick he’s not quite prepared enough, but another press against his prostate has him whining. When another tentacle twirls around his cock, the stimulation proves to be too much, and Dean is coming with a muffled shout, body clenching around the tentacles in him and mouth swallowing and sputtering around the tentacle.

            He’s not sure if that’s what brings Cas over, or if the seraph had been holding himself back until Dean came, but seconds later he feels a flood of warmth in his ass and mouth, as he hurriedly swallows to keep from choking on the sudden rush of liquid. He fails, he realizes, as he feels some of it leak past his lips and down his chin, sticky against his sweat-slick skin. There’s a sharp piercing sensation stabbing through his left shoulder, and he groans, too tired to even think about moving.

            When he opens his eyes again, everything is dark. Cas still hasn’t let go of him, panting against his shoulder. He blinks a few times, until the dark spots clouding his vision disappear and his eyes start to adjust to the dark, Cas’ dark hair slowly coming into focus. He flicks his tongue against a sucker, mumbling incoherently until Cas reluctantly withdraws, more slickness leaking out as he drags his tentacle out of Dean’s mouth.

            Dean swallows, tongue darting out to wet his lips, before faltering as his tongue drags along some of the sticky residue clinging to his face and lips. It doesn’t taste bad, though, it doesn’t really have much of a taste at all, so he winds up just sighing and swallowing it down.

            Everything throbs; his ass, his mouth, his shoulder, _everything_ , thanks to Cas’ tight grip and questing mouth and tentacles.

            “Hey Cas,” Dean’s voice cracks and he winces as he realizes how hoarse he’s become, Cas lifting his head off of Dean’s shoulder to smile at him. “You gonna, uh, take those out any time soon? I was serious, man, no way I can go for hours or whatever.”

            Cas’ smile falters for a minute as he slowly pulls the two tentacles out, suckers clinging to Dean’s rim as if reluctant to leave, and Dean hisses at the sudden empty sensation.

            “Dean?” Cas asks, earnestly, “Did I-?”

            “No, Cas,” Dean mutters, “’M fine, just gimme a minute.”

            He rolls his shoulders back and takes a deep breath as Cas tentacles slowly fall away. There’s still enough wrapped around him to keep him afloat, but now the darkening sky is visible, and Dean slowly becomes aware of the cold bite of the water.

            “Nngh, fuck,” he groans, head tilting as he finally looks down at his shoulder, curious.

            “ _Cas_ ,” he says, lowly, “did you – did you fucking _bite_ me?”

            Cas nods, fingers stroking against the bite mark reverently, before splashing cold water onto it and washing some of the blood away. “It’s part of my claim,” Cas says in explanation, leaning forward to press a soft kiss against Dean’s pliant mouth, “Just one more way to prove that you are mine, and to stop anyone from daring to touch you.”

            “Part of?” Dean asks, raising a brow, “I’m assuming you mean the necklace?”

            Cas smiles and nods his head again – a few days after putting it on him, Cas had finally gotten up the nerve to ask what the human word for it was, which had wound up starting a brief lesson on human items, as Cas pulled out various objects from his boxes and asked Dean for names and explanations. They’d come across silverware and bath products, various types of clothing (including more panties that Cas set aside, and while he probably thought he was being sneaky Dean knew that they were at least part of the reason the seraph kept ripping apart his boxers). “Exactly. Together, they prove to all that you are mine.”

            “Yours, huh?” Dean asks, “’N what about you? What’s to stop some other seraph from stealing you away?”

            “Dean,” Cas whispers, hand cupping the human’s cheek. He drags them closer, kissing Dean again, and when he pulls away he doesn’t go far, pressing their foreheads together and letting their breath mingle. “I would never leave you. No one else could possibly compare. You don’t truly believe I would-“

            “Was a joke, Cas,” Dean laughs at Cas’ unamused face.

            “I don’t understand your jokes,” Cas says, sounding put out, as he starts dragging Dean back towards their nest.

            “We’ve only been up for a couple of hours,” Dean points out, “You seriously tired?”

            Cas stops moving, dragging Dean close and smiling down at him wickedly.

            “Of course not,” he drags a hand through Dean’s hair, tugging at the strands, “but you’re going to need some rest, Dean. I told you, I’ve been waiting a long time for this – I’m hardly done with you.”

            Dean doesn’t even bother trying to hide his smile, not anymore.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [In To The Deep](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1858533) by [evillovebunny500](https://archiveofourown.org/users/evillovebunny500/pseuds/evillovebunny500)




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